


The Poignard

by seraph7



Category: Elizabeth (Movies), Generation Kill, La Reine Margot | Queen Margot (1994)
Genre: 16th Century CE, Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon Het Relationship, Complete, Complicated Relationships, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Family Secrets, France (Country), Het and Slash, Historical, Incest, Infidelity, Intrigue, Love Triangles, M/M, Murder, Poison, Religious Conflict, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sibling Incest, Sibling Rivalry, Starcrossed Romance, Swashbuckler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 196,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraph7/pseuds/seraph7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Brad Colbert and his team of spies are called to France. Their mission: To foil a plot to poison Queen Elizabeth I.<br/>Sir Francis Walsingham needs their help as he negotiates a treaty between Catholics and Huguenots. A fragile peace bound by the unpopular wedding of Henri de Navarre and Marguerite de Valois. To do this, they must join the dysfunctional debauched court of the Valois and join forces with Nate Fick, undercover agent, court favorite and musician.<br/>Deception, desire and intrigue surround the team as they try to foil the plot against their Queen.<br/>What is the secret that binds Nate to his mistress, the volatile, yet alluring Margot? Can Charles IX hold on to his sanity long enough to keep his throne? And to what lengths will Catherine go to bring her favourite son, the vicious yet amorally charming Alexandre Edouard, Duc d'Anjou to the throne? The terrors of the Saint Bartholomew's Eve massacre await them all...<br/>As the aftermath of the killings horrify the court, the murders continue. No one is safe as more shocking secrets come out. Catherine de' Medici's long reign of horror and lies is finally exposed to all.<br/>Not least: The darkest, most terrifying Valois secret of all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Poignard Drawn

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not only a crossover between the three fandoms but also an AU of the events of 1572. Sir Francis Walsingham did act as ambassador to France, which was a fact that kickstarted the AU.
> 
> The best way to describe this tale is a curious mixture of fact and fiction.
> 
> ADDITIONAL NOTE: I had to re-post this story as it got accidentally deleted, so I apologise if you have read this before! I took the opportunity to re-edit and do a light re-write of some sections, so hopefully it hangs together a bit better. The new sections start from Chapter 20, if you're looking for new content!

[](http://s719.photobucket.com/albums/ww199/seraphine7_2008/?action=view&current=poignardbookcover1.jpg)  


##  **June 1572, London**

**Lord Burghley's apartments, daytime**  


"What do you see, Ray? Can you decipher it ?"

There's no sound except for the frenzied scratch of the stylus on Ray Person's slate as he tackles the secret message revealed by the heat of the flame.

"Wait a minute, Lord Burghley, I'm nearly there." He lays his stylus down and hands it to Brad. "Done."

Brad looks carefully at the translation. "You're sure about this?" he questions.

"Of course I'm sure. Went over the translation twice. That's what it says."

He gives a slight nod. Whatever else he might think of Ray and his incessant tongue, one thing is not in doubt. The man knows his stuff, and Brad trusts his judgement.

"Lord Burghley? We need to act now, before they have a chance to carry out their plan. I vote we intercept them and find out what they know."

"You're just going to question them, aren't you, Brad? No torture unless I say so!" Burghley urges.

"Of course, Sir."

"I know Walsingham and his liking for torture." Burghley fusses.

He feels the need to set the record straight. "Lord Burghley, that's not strictly fair. You know that Lord Walsingham only uses torture as a last resort. There is no question of his loyalty towards the queen, or how seriously he takes his counter-insurgency duties. We are fighting a war against traitors and terrorists. We cannot be afraid to strike."

Burghley frets, even as he acknowledges the truth in Brad's words. After all, the man has just foiled an attempt on his life this very evening.

"I just don't want any trouble. You understand, don't you? I trust you to do the honourable thing, the right thing." He runs his hand through his silver hair. "I have her Majesty on my case, almost daily. Every move we make I have to justify to her. She doesn't seem to understand that we exist to keep her safe in a dangerous world and that sometimes involves participating in some questionable activities. Would that we could live in a peaceful kingdom, but that is not our fate ."

"Leave it to me, Sir. My team and I shall deal with the problem, if you provide the warrants."

Burghley sighs in relief. "I knew I could trust you, Colbert." He hands over the scrolls. "Make sure you bring them in for questioning. We need answers, and we need them fast."

 

**Thirty Minutes Earlier...**

 

The man slides down the darkened alleyway heading toward the house of William Cecil, Lord Burghley. He plasters himself against the wall, breathing in and out; preparing for the final push.

His masters had planned out what he should say if he is questioned by any curious countrymen and relayed the information to him in the tavern under the hubbub of a crowd intent on getting drunk as swiftly as possible. The orders still ring in his ears.

_Be swift, silent, yet deadly, for you will not get a second chance to eliminate this man._

The element of surprise was bound to have worked in his favour. In and straight out like an arrow from a longbow. Fifteen seconds to garotte Lord Burghley, wrap the strap firmly round his wizened neck, squeeze the life out of the man and make a getaway. By the time his servants notice there is anything amiss he will be well gone, and there will be nothing to prove that he or his masters had anything to do with this. Bushels of foreign gold if he succeeds. A new prosperous life for his family, new identities, how could he fail to carry out such orders. He doesn't dare think of the consequences of failure...

Distracted by the thought of incipient riches, he stumbles into a tall dark shadow which holds him fast. He starts to struggle, kicking and squirming but it's impossible, muscle straining hard against the tension. Whoever is holding him must have uncommon strength and cunning too. He hadn't even realised that he was not alone in the alleyway, and now his potential failure becomes almost tangible. _This can't be happening!_

In desperation, he lashes out with his dagger; striking his captor by sheer blind luck in the thigh. A lesser man might have been given pause; loosened his grip for a crucial second, but his captor doesn't let up, pressing a forearm against his throat and making him choke on his words

"What do you want? Let me be!" he squeaks, struggling futilely within his bonds.

There's two of them. The tall man, who appeared like some supernatural being and captured him and another man, a foreigner. Corbache would swear that he looks Latin.

"There are some questions we would like answered, if it would please you." says the cool polite voice of the first man."Be so good as to not waste my time with lies." He feels a dagger prod against his ribs. Not hard enough to pierce the flesh, but enough to underline the intent.

"I'll tell you nothing!" he squeals, before realising he's just admitted his own guilt in the affair and given away any power.

The faint light from a lamp falls on the interrogator's face, gilding his short cropped gold hair and ice cold eyes. Corbache's eyes widen as he realises the identity of his captor. He's heard vague tales of this man and he is savvy enough to fear him : L'Ange de la Glace. Walsingham's right hand.

"I was afraid you'd be fool enough to say that." He lowers his voice confidentially, yet clear enough he can still be heard. "We know everything. Heard you and your accomplice talking in the tavern. Scheming to retrieve a certain document, were you not? Did you really think that you'd get away with your plot to harm Lord Burghley?"

Corbache gulps, his guilt written clear on his face like a illuminated manuscript. "There must have been some mistake, Sir. I didn't-"

"Oh, but you just admitted that you did, Sir. Try for a little consistency in your story." Brad prods the reluctant captive forward, the stern carved lines of his face utterly implacable. "Move."

* * *

They lead him back into the building through a side entrance. Burghley waits for them.

"You do understand, don't you? No hard feelings..." Brad cannot quite resist from quipping.  


Corbache just scowls from beneath heavy dark brows. There's a scar across his face which pulls his features into a menacing sneer.

"This is the man? Well, let's find out what he knows, if anything." Lord Burghley turns to his man. "Brad? Are you hurt? He stabbed you?"

Brad is already binding the wound, efficient as always. "Flesh wound, Sir. Little more than a scratch. Pass me that bottle of brandy." He dabs a little onto the wound, hissing as the alcohol meets the flesh.

"That'll be a new pair of hose, Colbert. I'll put it in a claim on expenses for you."

"I'm sure the Colbert finances will stand to a pair of hose, Sir?" he remarks with a quirk of his mouth.

His boss raises his eyebrow at him. Though his tone is stern and authoritative, there is a twinkle in his eyes that belys it. "Don't quibble, Colbert. You get injured in the line of duty, we compensate you for your hose. No arguments-"

 

* * *

"Who sent you?" Brad asks, polite as ever. The glint of knuckledusters gleam on his large well shaped hands.

Corbache refuses to talk, shaking his head furiously.

"Still nothing?"

"He's stubborn, Lord Burghley."

Brad looks to Lord Burghley. "Your call, sir?" 

Burghley gives him a curt nod as if to condone what is coming next.

The older man shakes his head almost sorrowfully, the very slightest shrug of his dark wool clad shoulders. "Very well."

Brad drives his metal clad fist into Corbache's side. The Frenchman grunts obviously in pain, but still remains silent for now.

"You haven't answered the query. I asked you a question: Who sent you? Do attempt not to try my patience."

"There's nothing to tell." He gasps, hand flying to his side.

"You truly expect me to believe you were working alone?" Lord Burghley says with a dash of dry humour. "Perhaps we should leave him to Trombley. See if the rookie can get anything out of him."

Corbache's eyes widen as he see the shudder that the rest of the team gives at that suggestion. He's intelligent enough to realise that this is a fate to be avoided, even through the blossoming pain in his bruised side.

Brad removes the garotte from the hapless captive and holds it up so the rest of the group can see the weapon clearly.

"Why would you have this on you and be headed towards Lord Burghley unless you had some evil intent? You meant to catch him unawares, did you not?" A grim smile spread across that face. "I suggest you start talking, sir. It will be far better for you."

"There's a plot-" he gasps, still trying to get his breath back. Corbache doubts he will live through the night, what does it matter now if he spills a few secrets? After all, he's still owed the last installment of his reward.

"On the life on Elizabeth," Burghley confirms to himself. "Have you got any details for us, Monsieur Corbache?"

Slowly Corbache starts to nod.

"We require details." He presses.

"A man named Funteyn. Symond Funteyn. He's executing the plot. He and his group are situated on Cheapside. Near the docks. All I was hired to do was deal with you."

The two men exchange a glance, sharing their assessment of him: low-level scum, a mere hack and slash assassin, ill-informed about any wider plot. "And this is the purpose of the message you were so keen to guard?"

"What are you going to do to me?" Corbache asks.

Brad considers his options. "You're too much of a risk for us to release you. You'll be taken into custody until further notice while we check the veracity of your statements."

"But I gave you the information you wanted!" the wretched man's voice rises in panic, realising that he was not going to be finished off that night. If his masters ever found out of his failure to kill Lord Burghley, his life would not be worth a sou. He may as well beg them to put him out of his misery and slit his guts now. 

"Right now you're lucky to still be alive and in one piece, Monsieur Corbache. I wouldn't push my luck too far, frankly."


	2. The Foiled Plot

Brad meets with his team to brief them before they move in to break up the Funteyn conspiracy. It's a low-level thing mostly; a couple of disaffected Catholic sympathisers who've listened to the wrong kind of foreign rhetoric and jumped the wrong way politically. Probably funded by foreign gold; from that meddling Gregory XIII or the powerful and troublesome de Guise family, eager to put their kinswoman Mary, Queen of Scots on the English throne at last. Nevertheless, it needs to be stamped out immediately before it gets serious, and Brad and his team are the men to do it .

"So what are you planning to do? Gatecrash their meeting and arrest them all? You'll have a job getting all the warrants."

"Already taken care of, Signor Espera." Brad says with a flourish. "Took a bit of persuasion, but Lord Burghley came through in the end."

"The benefits of having the ear of the mighty-" Espera gives a low whistle. "I try to get anything done through Schwetje, it takes three godamn weeks to get anything approved. The Spaniards are fucking laughing at us. I had Lilley smuggle out plans for an Armada and do you know what the dumb fucker did? Spilt wine over the plans so you could barely read them. Luckily Patterson and I had them all copied before we submitted them."

"It's not the enemy that'll get us killed, it's command." Ray says, shaking his head. "Just imagine if they acquired themselves brains? How dangerous would they be then?"

"Ray, when you're right, you are definitely right."

"Which is not that often, so don't start getting too damn cocky." Espera grins.

"So what's the plan, Brad?" asks Ray, ignoring Espera's needling.

"We pick them off one by one as they gather to finalise the plan at Funteyn's house. We ask them questions and we get to the bottom of this. If we need to take them into custody, we will."

"You've got this all planned out, haven't you?" says Espera admiringly. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Of course. And that's the way I like it. A clean orderly campaign ."

"What about Trombley?" asks Espera, slightly later on once Ray has left the room. 'Brad, I have to say I'm concerned that you want him in your team, let alone on assignment-'

"What about him?"

"You know how enthusiastic he gets about torture. Do you think that taking Funteyn and his group into custody is a wise idea?"

"No one said anything about torture. Lord Burghley and I just want to find out some facts about the conspiracy, that's all."

"That may be the case, but you know how volatile that boy is. Will you be able to control him?"

By the look on his team leader's face, Espera knows instantly that he has overstepped the line. Brad looks at him for a long moment with those ice-cold eyes, saying nothing, watching him squirm as he slowly realises his mistake .

"Poke, I sincerely hope you weren't doubting my ability to control my team? Were you?" he says eventually.

An awkward silence hangs in the air between them.

"No, Lord Colbert." He says, reverting to formality.

"Because it distinctly sounded like you were?"

"Of course not!" Poke protests, before inadvertently making it worse for himself. "You have to admit though; your team is a little eccentric-"

Brad raises one fair eyebrow. "Eccentric?"

"Come on, you have to admit that there's something not right about Trombley."

"He's young, but he has potential, once he calms down a little. He's a tremendous shot. The lad has the ruthlessness to get things done without quibbling. He's a work in progress."

"-And as for Ray-"

Espera scoffs, but doesn't say anything out loud.

"Need I remind you that Ray Person is the best coder on the team? We need his skills to break the enemies' code and I for one, am extremely glad he chooses to dedicate his extensive intellectual skills to the security of his country. I know Sir Francis and Lord Ferrando feel the same way."

Espera knows that once Brad takes that tone of voice with him, it's going to be difficult, nay well nigh impossible to sway him."Hey, it's your team, not mine."

Ray's waiting outside. He's obviously heard the entire conversation.

"Hey, thanks for sticking up for me there."

"You shouldn't be listening in on other people's conversations." says Brad with an absolutely deadpan face.

"I know-" Ray says, awkwardly scuffing the toe of his boot along the floor. "But for what it's worth, thank you."

Brad doesn't reply, although the small smile on his face gives him away.

 

* * *

That evening, Southwark

The man looks terrified as he ducks down the alleyway, cocking his head this way and that. Brad and his team have been lying in wait for a long while until all the conspirators have assembled, picking them off one by one for questioning . This man is the last one, and if his guilt wasn't already known to the team, it would be written in his gestures.

"Don't even think of trying to escape, Symond Funteyn," Brad says into the man's ear, hidden so well the prey had no idea he was there all the time. He has that disconcerting knack of melding into the shadows despite his distinctive looks. Of course it helped that Funteyn was so preoccupied, he lost his focus.

The man lets out a squeak of fear as Brad easily disarms and captures him, a wicked sharp dagger pressed to his throat.

"Me, Sir? I've done nothing. You have no right-" he splutters, the blade pressing against his windpipe.

Brad is utterly unpiressed with his bluster. "Lord Burghley would like to talk to you regarding a matter that's very close to both your hearts. If you wouldn't mind obliging me-"

A guilty flush stains his face in the dim light of the alleyway. "Not me sir, I know nothing. Must be a case of mistaken identity."

_This man is a liar,_ senses Brad with a narrowing of those clear blue eyes, _and a very unskilled one too._

He saw his signature, not once but several times on the paperwork the recon team had managed to recover. 

_That cannot be an accident even if Corbache hadn't confirmed his involvement to save his own skin. The conspirators are using his house as a base of operations. Every single member of the group they have pulled up has identified him as their ringleader. Funteyn is in this up to his neck._

"Please don't try to insult my intelligence, Mr Funteyn. If you have nothing to hide, then you will not object to meeting with Lord Burghley and telling him what you know to help our efforts to safeguard the security of the country. Will you?"

Brad starts to march Funteyn to the waiting carriage, the butt of his pistol pressed hard into his back. Funteyn still attempts to struggle, twisting this way and that, although his efforts are half-hearted now. The plotter knows resistance is futile.

"Could you bind him, Trombley? I went to a great deal of trouble to get him, and I'd not like him to escape."

Trombley snaps to attention, eager to be of assistance to his team leader, 'Yes, Sir!'

"You have no right to do this! You can't prove a thing-" Funteyn splutters, face turning red with anger and exertion."This is that devil Walsingham's doing! His prejudice towards Catholics who merely want to worship freely in line with their consciences."

Ray has had more than enough of his weaselling words. "We've been watching you for the past week, fucknuts. You don't think we would swoop in and take you and your fellow conspirators in without a cast iron warrant?"

Funteyn panics, knowing he's been outsmarted and driven into a trap. "I've been perjured. It's a snare, God, help me-" He looks round the carriage searching for mercy from his implacable captors. "Please, kind Sir-" he says, addressing Trombley. "You're a young man of good family. Have some mercy on a beleaguered soul."

Trombley just gives him a disconcerting smile, as he tightens the knots.

Ray whistles in amusement as he watches his comrade. "You must be the worst judge of character ever to walk this sorry earth. Appealing to Trombley for mercy! Fuck, we spend our lives trying to rein in that lunatic and I mean that in the most affectionate way, I really do."

* * *

At Lord Burghley's Headquarters

"Is he here?" Burghley asks as soon as he arrives. Brad barely has time to marvel that he came so quickly in response to his message, but at least he's shown he takes Brad's warning seriously.

"Please sir, I was trying to tell your men. This has been a terrible mistake. Don't torture me." Funteyn pleads, noticing that Burghley seems to be the authority within the group.

His eyebrow raises. "Torture? Colbert?"

"I haven't touched him." Brad protests. "Trombley secured the prisoner. I merely told him to loosen the knots. Funteyn has been treated with all possible courtesy so far-"

Funteyn is rocking in his seat back and forth, utterly terrified. His breaths come shallow and rapid, rattling in his chest. He clutches the armrests of the chair, his hands trembling uncontrollably. Brad wonders how far down the chain of command he is, and who is really responsible. Perhaps he is telling the truth. This plot is backed from abroad and a pathetic rube like Funteyn is just the convenient fall-guy. But why would they be so willing to sell out their agent?

"Burris, Hasser search this man." Burghley orders. "Let's get to the bottom of this."

The two do a thorough job, turning out pockets and patting him down with a swift efficiency.

"French gold." says Walt Hasser, pulling out a heavy bag and throwing it on the table where it lands with a loud thud. Burris picks it up and weighs it speculatively in his hand. "Lots of it, and a seal. You have a lot of explaining to do, sir."

"A seal?" Brad is instantly alert. "Take this down, Ray. Every last syllable. Walt, hand me the evidence."

"I-Oh God, help me...I can't-" wails Funteyn, literally unmanned by his fear. He knows now the game is up. "I can't stand torture."

Burris hands him the seal and the money. Brad recognises it instantly, tracing the lines of the de Guise coat of arms with one finger. _This case has just become a lot more complicated and a hell of a lot more dangerous._ Brad can't wait to get stuck in. _This has the makings of a legit reconnaissance mission. At last!_  
He shows Burghley the seal without a word.

"De Guise ?"

"The de Guise seal in your pocket, Mr Funteyn? Why would that be there if you are as you claim, innocent?" Brad asks with a dangerous yet pleasant smile to their hapless suspect.

Funteyn stares at him, terrified. He's trembling, fear almost visibly crawling over his clammy, pale skin. "I can't say anything. I'm lost-" hemutters to himself, rocking in his seat in distress.

Lord Burghley elects to use a measure of kindness to extract the truth, now that he has the suspect on the spot. Funteyn is a completely different animal from the hired assassin Corbache. Plainly, a man way out of his depth.

"The time for stoic silence has passed now. If I were you, I'd start talking and save myself. Do you think your foreign paymasters will protect you?"

Funteyn's eyes travel upward, regarding Brad fearfully as if he was an avenging angel complete with flaming sword. "They made me promise not to say a word and obey all orders, otherwise they'd harm my family."

"Your family?"

Funteyn nods, eager to ingratiate himself with his interrogators. "A wife and two daughters, Sir. Lettice and Bessie."

"How would they harm them, Mr Funteyn?" questions Burghley.

"They threatened to trap them and burn my wife and daughters in our house while they sleep. They have people on their payroll everywhere. I made a foolish mistake abroad and got recruited. I wish I never listened to the Jesuit."

"The Jesuit?" Brad leaned forward, pinning the hapless man within his gaze.

Funteyn swallows nervously, choking on his own fear.

"What has this got to do with Jesuits, Mr Funteyn?"

"I met a man at St Malo, Sir." Funteyn says hesitantly looking up at Brad with naked fear in his watery grey eyes. "I was in a tavern by the Quai. I'd been drinking heavily, and there was a man who kept watching me from the sidelines. Listening to every drunken word I'd said. The next day-"

Funteyn gulped, clasping shaking hands in front of him. "He came to visit and talked to me. Persuaded me this was the only way I could redeem myself. If I didn't do as he said, he would inform the authorities of my rash words. I should feel proud that he was giving me the chance to act upon my principles. Leading my country back to the true faith-"

"The Jesuits trapped you?" Brad said, looking over Ray's hastily written slates. "They entrapped you into this hopeless conspiracy? Is that what you are trying to tell us?"

"New tactic for them, don't you think?" remarks Burghley to his team leader. "Forcible recruitment? The barely even bothered to indoctrinate him this time, did they?"

"Doesn't sound like them to do a slapdash job? Those Jesuits are usually professionals, damn them! Reckon this must be a rush job or a commission. One that they don't really want-"

"What do you think we should do with him, Colbert?" asks Burghley.

"You're the boss. It's your call, sir."

Burghley observes the wretched Funteyn with an almost pitying look and makes a decision. "Take him to the cells. I'll report to her Majesty, and then we'll decide what to do with him. Good work, lads."


	3. A Warning Shot

Sir Francis Walsingham prises the seal off his early morning dispatches, scanning them swiftly for any important updates to the situation. Although he has been in France for little more than a year, he still likes to keep a beady eye peeled on events going on at home. Elizabeth may think of him as nothing but a harbinger of doom but as he never tires of telling her: 'Security is the best defence we have.'

A dainty jewelled slipper to the head might be his usual reward and an ear bending about the prohibitive cost of running his recon team, but Sir Francis is prepared to put his money where his mouth is and support his team.

He was immensely proud of his recon team. Highly trained and skilled. Courageous and resourceful, they worked where other soldiers and operatives dared not. Right now, he needed them here with him in France.

If Elizabeth had ever had a true inkling of the dangers she faced every day and which his team neutralised, it would turn her fiery Tudor hair grey overnight. Walsingham had cherry-picked his team from the best the Army and colleges had to offer. Had put them through gruelling bouts of training until it was second nature for them to do their jobs, ingrained into their very bones and souls. Inspired a steadfast loyalty that meant they would happily lay down their lives for him and their country. Sure, they were cocky obnoxious bastards, proud of their hard won skills, but Sir Francis could understand that.

He re-read the first dispatch, scribbling notes in the margins in a small neat hand. This sounded serious. He could usually count on 'Ganymede ' and his analysis of the situation and if he was concerned then Sir Francis had the good sense to take it seriously. He didn't like what he read here, not by any means.

_I strongly believe that we have the makings of a serious sectarian problem which is being encouraged by de Guise and his faction. The marriage is not popular, I'm sorry to say. Everyone in France is against it, none more so than the bride who vows to either elope with de Guise (!) or refuse Henri de Navarre at the altar._

_Gregory XIII is making things worse by declaring he will not ratify the wedding if Catherine de' Medici goes through with it. The king equally as stubbornly insists that his sister will marry Henri de Navarre. It seems the immutable force has met the immovable object and who knows what will happen next?  
As for the poison plot, so far I haven't heard anything but that may change. I have contacted our expert and asked him to keep an ear to the ground, just in case. Things are a little unsettled. I have no idea if I will be required to go with Lady Marguerite after the wedding to Navarre or whether I will have to stay here under Anjou. Personally, I would rather not join the prince but you are my master and I will do you as you willst._

_Your servant_  


**Ganymede**

Sir Francis makes a decision . He sharpens a new quill and addresses a letter to his counterpart Lord Burghley back home.

* * *

England, a few days later.

"Are we any closer to finding out more about the Jesuit? Symond Funteyn claims this man enticed him into that plot?'' Lord Burghley asks at his and Brad's customary early morning meeting.

"Cariasalez and Holsey are working on it, but they haven't reported any more progress so far."

"It could be a weaselling lie to get him off the hook; we don't know the truth of the matter." Lord Burghley frets. "I don't like the idea of someone like this on the loose. We're going to have to do something, Brad."

Brad had pondered the matter at length after the interrogation, sifting both points of view carefully through his mind until the early morning.

"With all due respect, I'm not so sure that's the case. I'm trying to fit all sides of the puzzle together, but I think there is a lot more to this conspiracy than meets the eye."

"What's your judgement on this, Lord Colbert then? So far?" Burghley asks.

"I think Funteyn is telling us a part truth. This is a foreign plot and it's not over, by any means. Funteyn was just the warning shot across the bows. If we want to investigate it properly, then we should send a team abroad. To the French court and de Guise."

Burghley smiles. It seems Brad has independently come to the conclusion he wanted. "I've just received a missive from Lord Walsingham in Paris. He asks for a recon team to come out and join him at the Valois court. It's the ideal opportunity for your boys. Get up close to de Guise and keep an eye on him. Are you up to it?"

Brad nods. "Of course, Sir."

"Good. Let me finish off this meeting and I'll brief you and the lads in two hours. I have to meet with the Queen and get treasury approval for our prospective mission."

"Good Luck, Sir. I hope your reflexes are up to dodging any jewelled missiles she decides to aim."

Burghley acknowledges his quip. "Let me deal with her Majesty, Colbert. She has to realise how important this mission is."

* * *

At Court, Hampton Court Palace

Brad waits in the corridor after seeing Lord Burghley for his partner Ray, who's having his own meeting with his boss. He pulls at his starched little ruff, scratching at the long column of his neck. The constricting stiff Court clothes are damnably restricting to wear, all whale bone, slashed sleeves and scratchy lace but he restrains the urge to rip it all off and makes the best of it.

 _It's just one day,_ he tells himself. Primped up like a prize turkey. He's fought in the Netherlands; he can handle one measly day at court. _Just as long as he doesn't have to be faced with Tom and Letty. That would be too much to bear._

"Bradley!" He hears a familiar voice call him from down the corridor and he inwardly groans, stifling a muttered curse. _So much for luck..._

Ray's finished his own briefing with Lord Burghley and joins him just in time to see Tom bearing down on them.

"Have you seen him? On our six?" Ray mutters.

He sighs. "Yes. Now I've got to deal with this too."

"You just leave this to your old pal Ray-Ray-". There's a grin on his face that Brad knows is nothing but trouble, particularly when he spots a roll of parchment in the other man's hand. It's too much to ask that Ray hasn't seen it too.

"Ray, promise me you won't say anything." he urges.

"Even if he's about to read you some appalling lovelorn drivel? You know he's going to, and I will not be able to keep my mouth shut-"

"Try-" he says, dry as ever.

'Well, Brad Colbert! What brings you to court?' Tom says, slapping Brad heartily on the back. 'Surprised to see you here, old boy. I thought you preferred fighting the Papist hordes in the Netherlands as opposed to advancing yourself at court.'

"Business, Tom." Brad says tersely. "Some of us work for a living."

Ray is cutting the newcomer an evil look, a scornful smirk curling round his mouth.

'Not a word, Ray-' Brad warns him quietly, spotting his partner's expression. 'I mean it.'

Tom is so self-absorbed, he doesn't notice. "I've just come up with a poem for Letty. Do you mind giving me an opinion?"

Before Brad or Ray can open their mouth to tell him no, he clears his throat and starts reading from his scroll in an affected voice.

My Heart I've given to my mistress fair  
I do not dare to dream  
That she with Kindness will regard me now  
Too long for favours thus I cannot dare  
Too boldfaced it would seem  
The flowers that the meadow early grace  
Are nothing to the charms of her sweet face  
If she would deign to be but kind to me  
In heaven I'd reckon myself to be  
Since I do aim for love too high, I vow

"What do you think, Brad?" Tom says with the eagerness of a hyperactive puppy. "D'ye think Letty will like it?"

Brad privately thinks that any woman who professes herself impressed by such insipid verse deserves everything she gets. He knows better than to say anything. Sometimes it was best to not say anything at all.

Of course Ray can't stand Tom or Letty, and has no such restraint. 

"Seriously, Tom?"

Brad knows what is coming and tries unsuccessfully to head him off at the pass. It's not going to happen; Ray is determined to get his critique out at any cost.

"Come on, Ray. We have work to do and cannot spend time idling-"

"What kind of sappy retarded nonsense is this?" Ray asks Tom earnestly, his dark eyes shining with mischief as he peers round Brad. "'I do not dare to dream-' Do women like that self-effacing bullshit?'

Tom is astounded by Ray's attack. He simply doesn't have the verbal weapons to fight back.

"If she would deign to be but kind to me-" He shakes his head in righteous disgust. "I'm sorry, but what self respecting woman would enjoy such a craven attempt to gain her favour? You know what? I reckon a bit of honesty would go down better than that. Doesn't it make you fucking sick to the stomach to have to mouth such mealy-mouthed platitudes? They all know you say this shit to get up their skirts."

"Ray!"

It's no use, he's on a roll now and there's no way Brad's going to be able to interrupt one of his flights of verbal virtuosity.

"Any woman who honestly goes for this drivel has got to be the shallowest, insipid, dull woman on the planet. There's not a single original interesting simile in the entire piece. I bet you knocked this crap up in ten minutes, didn't you? Admit it, you did, Tom. You can always tell. Shoddy workmanship isn't going to get you any quim."

Brad is managing to keep a straight face, but it's hard work.

"I...But-" Tom is reduced to stammering . His mouth is gaping open like a floundering mackerel.

"Do you know what, I got major second hand embarrassment listening to you reciting that drivel. Didn't your stones shrivel right up inside your body having to say that loud to other people?" Ray says earnestly, a wicked gleam in those dark eyes.  


Brad looks at him with a razor sharp frown that would intimidate ninety nine men out of a hundred. It doesn't work on Ray though. The little fucker is enjoying himself far too much, frankly.

"Joshua Person!"

Ray gives him a innocent look, all big brown eyes, but Brad isn't remotely fooled.

"Yes, Sir?"

"We have work to do. Come along-"

"Spoilsport!" Ray mutters before hurrying along after him.

* * *

William Cecil, Lord Burghley is having a very busy day. He has to wait to see Queen Elizabeth and get this mission signed off. The sooner they can get approval, the sooner the recon team can get out to France and start investigating the plot.

"You wished to speak to her Majesty?" her servant says.

"Yes, if you please. Tell her it's urgent."

-0-

Elizabeth is sat at her desk, quill dangling precariously from her ink-bottle. She looks up at the approach of her trusted minister.

"Spirit, I didn't expect to see you until next week. What can I help you with?"

Since they are alone, he takes the first opportunity to take a seat. The use of their private affectionate nickname bodes well. He hopes her good mood lasts long enough for him to delineate his and Lord Walsingham's plan for the team.

"It must be serious if you were prepared to interrupt your holiday, Lord Cecil. Have I ever told you that you work too hard?"

"Constantly, your Majesty. But traitors do not rest because we do."

"I understand you've just neutralised a plot against my life. I was just reading your report." She indicates the pile of papers on her desk.

"Lord Colbert and his team dealt with it admirably."

"So it seems-" she says rather drily. Lord Burghley looks down at the file and sees red ink underlines all over the document. She's been hard at work again. "Tell me, Lord Burghley, if Lord Colbert and his team have stopped the threat as you claim, why are you requesting funding and permission for a mission to the French court? A very expensive mission, may I add?"

Lord Burghley is about to launch into his well-rehearsed spiel, when she interrupts with a pointed little tight smile which doesn't quite meet her eyes. "-It's funny I got the same request from Sir Francis. It seems your reconnaissance men are quite in demand."

"Of course, Your Majesty. They are the best at what they do, which is devoting themselves to keeping you safe. Right now we are convinced that the source of the threat is from France-"

"They are Sir Francis's men, aren't they?" she remarks. Burghley recognises the steel behind her voice.

"They are, your Majesty," he admits  


"Many monarchs would not look kindly on a minister taking it upon himself to collect a group of men, training them for his own ends-" she muses. "There are some that would consider Lord Walsingham to be treading a very dangerous path."

There's a ruthless glint in her eye that marks her out as Henry Tudor's daughter to the life.

"The team are completely loyal to you, Ma'am, I assure you. Sir Francis wishes to convince you of the benefits of this secret force. Ready and willing to act on your behalf in the most dangerous situations." He can't quite believe it, even as he speaks. Everyone else in the council would probably laugh themselves sick for weeks. The day that he, William Cecil, spent his time defending Lord Walsingham and Lord Ferrando.

"They did serve me well in the Netherlands." she notes grudgingly, bejewelled finger travelling down the file. 

"Lord Hasser was commended for bravery at Breda, I see. Took down that dam and stopped the Spanish advance, while evacuating the beleaguered townspeople at great risk to himself ."

"He's young, but worthy. A man of some promise, my lady."

"And of course, Lord Colbert-" she muses. "Quite the military prodigy, I see. Several years in my service-"

"He is extremely loyal to your Majesty. The council believe he has great promise. In a couple of years, with your approval and God willing perhaps we could introduce him to the council."

"The Council? At his age? He's still quite a young man, in his twenties, I believe. You think he's that good?"

Lord Burghley nods.

"Why, Spirit, you must think a lot of this man." She says with a playful smile breaking out onto that royal visage. 

Lord Burghley looks at his mistress with relief. Perhaps for all her posturing and playing hardball, she isn't so averse to the idea.

"I do. I trust people very rarely, but he has never let me down. Never."

"I really do hope your trust in him is justified." She hands over a scroll, and Lord Burghley has to hide a flash of elation. Despite her ball-busting she signed the order; they can start the mission straight away.

"Just try and remind Sir Francis to keep the costs down, will you?" she remarks as a parting shot. "My coffers are not inexhaustible."

-0-

"Bradley ?"

Brad's day is completely going to shit. It's bad enough he had to deal with Tom and his thoughtlessness, but Letty as well? With Ray hanging round, practically quivering at the prospect of conflict, this is not what he needs, at all.

"Do you not know me any more?' she says with a flirtatious air. 'It's Letty Glenister."

"My lady Laetitia-" Brad says, with a bow. There's no need for him not to be polite. Even though she tore out his heart and stomped it into the ground the day she told him she was leaving him for Tom .

"So formal? What are you doing at Court anyway? I thought you hated Court with a passion."

"As I said to Tom, Business."

"You saw Tom?" She says, a tell-tale flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck from her wired lawn collar. He remembered of old how she would blush in embarrassment if caught out in a lie.

"Yes. He's writing some poetry for you. You should be prepared."

She looks inordinately pleased with herself.

Brad knows he shouldn't allow himself to get sucked in by her wiles, he shouldn't give her the satisfaction, but he can't help it. "Tell me honestly, Letty. Is that what you really want in a man? Poetry and fine words?"

She cocks her head to one side. "It was sweet between us, but did you genuinely think we could ever make a union of it?"

"Yes, that's why I asked you to marry me, Letty. Why I courted you since the age of seventeen-"

"Oh, Bradley-" she sighs. She almost sounds sorry for him, repentant for letting him down. Not quite. "I have to be at court. I have to advance myself and my family. I could have never done that as your wife. You weren't prepared to play the courtly game, like Tom is. What would I have done in the countryside, raising horses ?"

"I'm so sorry I disappointed you." Brad remarks, but the irony's lost on her, as he knew it would be.

"Tom is a gentleman, born and bred for centuries. I know we've been friends for ever, and a long time ago I cared for you, Brad-". For a moment she looks almost wistful. "-But in truth, no one knows who your true family is. You were adopted by the Colbert's as a babe. You are a foundling. You could be anybody."

Brad looks at her as if he never knew her. As if she's just revealed herself for the shallow social climbing flirt that she is. _She was never like this when we were young, and I fell in love with her. This place has changed her, corrupted her beyond redemption ._

"I'm sorry you see fit to reproach me for my birth Letty, since I cannot do anything to change it." He says with dignity.

Letty's face falls, the barb striking home. "Bradley, don't be like that, I dids't not mean-"

It wasn't worth getting annoyed with her. It would take far too much energy to set her straight. Make her understand how disappointed he was in her. _Maybe that's the first sign I'm over it. I don't care enough to fight for her, to compete with Tom for her favour, and that is what she wants. A contest for her hand in marriage, he and I vying for her caresses and smiles, one that I cannot win._

"Forget it, Letty. I'm going on a mission very soon. I don't need this right now."

Oblivious that she is, even she notices his brusqueness. "You're not angry with me, are you, Brad?" She flutters her lashes at him, giving him her most winsome look, but now he sees through her wiles and has not time for them.

"I never said I was." He says shortly, shaking off her hand on his arm.

She clings to his arm, biting her lip. "It's just that Tom wanted me to ask you; Would you mind being our best man when we marry in October?" She looks up at him, making her eyes big and appealing.

"Your best man?" he echoes, taken aback by her request.

"It's just that everyone knows that you are his best friend and mine from childhood. It'd look strange if you weren't involved in some way." She says hurriedly, a furious flush on her cheeks. "Won't you consider it, Brad? For me?"

Brad always knew Letty was a bit thoughtless, but he cannot believe the bare-faced cheek she has asking such a thing of him. _Has she completely forgotten they were courting for years before she discarded him for Tom?_ He thought she understood. _He was a soldier. It was his duty to work in the service of the crown. A long time ago, when he first started he thought he had been doing it for them, to secure their future but now he knew that wasn't true. He loved his work. He was damned good at it. And he would apologise to no one for it._

"I don't know if I'll be here." He says evenly. "Lord Burghley expects the team and I to move out to France in a couple of days. I have no idea when I'll be back."

"You're not angry with us? Tom's worried that he might have lost your friendship." she chirps.

Brad thanks God that Ray isn't here to hear her say that. He dreads to think what his response would be. He did the right thing accepting this posting, and now he can't wait to get away from Laetitia and Tom and their emotional games.

"I hope you and Tom will be very happy together." He says as sincerely as he can. "Now if you'll excuse me, Mistress Glenister ."

 

* * *

**Headquarters, that evening**

Walt knocks on the door of Brad's office."Are you busy, Sir?"

Brad's just working through some files with Ray to take his mind off the encounter with Letty Glenister. Mundane stuff, really. It can wait. 'What is it, Lord Hasser?'

"It seems Funteyn's finally found the use of his tongue. Says he's ready to spill. But he'll only do it for Lord Colbert. You better go, before he changes his mind."

*

"I'm ready to talk, Sir-" says Funteyn as soon as Brad enters the cell.

Brad is impassive as he draws up a stool and faces the prisoner, long legs in their dark silk and wool hose stretched out before him. "What about, Mr Funteyn?"

"The de Guise plan." He says, swallowing nervously. Brad notices his hands shake. Funteyn is really falling apart at the first hurdle. How could anyone have thought this bumbling merchant would be suitable for any kind of mission?

"So you are willing to admit that you were hired by the family? And for what end?" he enquires in a pleasant tone of voice.

Funteyn's shoulder slump. He looks terrible, not bearing up under the strain at all. 'Seems no more point in lying about it, does there? And you and Lord Burghley were true to your word. You didn't hurt me.'

Brad nods, waiting for Funteyn to spit it out.

"If I didn't succeed, then phase two of the plan would come into effect. They would send an agent from France to create and smuggle a poison for her Majesty. A poison fit for a queen. One which would be impossible to detect, until it is too late-"

"Is such a thing possible?"

Funteyn nods and gulps convulsively, pulling at his ruff with obvious discomfort. "Yes. Monsieur de Guise seems to think so, and has invested a wealth of money in the enterprise-"

_A wealth of money. How much are we talking about? Hundreds? Millions? The bastards are rich enough to afford it. There must be a paper trail somewhere. We'll have to get one of the team onto it._

"Thank you for your information. I can assure you that it's come in useful." he says coolly, putting away his slate.

Funteyn looks disappointed at Brad's cool reception to his information. "Aren't you going to set me free? I told you all you wanted to know."

Brad sincerely doubts Lord Burghley will do any such thing. He knows for a fact Sir Francis wouldn't even consider striking dubious bargains with prisoners. Besides, does not this rube have any idea that his life is still in danger with the failure of his plot? Verily, this one is a true amateur! Brad almost feels he should be sorry for him. 

'If it were in my power to do so, I would seriously consider it. Alas, it is not. Still, I will try to put in a good word for you, Funteyn. You eventually did the right thing. That's got to count for something.'

-0-

'What did you get from Funteyn? You were in there for quite a while.' observes Walt on his return to the office.

'Funteyn decided to sing like the proverbial linnet about the plans of the de Guise clan. We'd better set off as soon as possible to France to get to de Guise.'

Walt is rather surprised he got anything out of Funteyn. 'He told you all that? Not exactly standing up under interrogation, is he? Imagine if Trombley had got his hands on him.'

'He seemed to be under the impression that he would be instantly being granted his freedom if he started to talk. Does this surprise you, Lord Burghley?' he says to his boss, who's just entered with Ray, Burris and Trombley.

'It's amazing what technology is capable of nowadays.' answers Lord Burghley, not quite addressing the question. Brad remains suspicious. 'The Jesuits are sponsoring studies in toxicology, according to our sources. This news from Funteyn merely ties in with that.'

'The Jesuits. Why are they poking their nose into these matters, Lord Burghley?' Burris asks.

'They want a patent of a new poison. I don't know details but I know they are employing a perfumer in Paris to come up with a new formulation. One so deadly it'll take us many years to come up with an antidote.'

"To the right people it would be worth a fortune. A king's ransom." Burghley frets. "Insurgents could hold whole countries to ransom, just imagine the havoc a few hotheads could cause..."

'We've got our work cut out for us.' Brad notes.

Burghley regains his cheer, confident in his team. 'I have every confidence that you and your team will manage the challenges of the French court perfectly. You are our best men, our elite. Lord Walsingham thinks a lot of you all.'

_Aye, he expects us to carry out miracles! thinks Brad silently._

* * *

Brad barely has time to arrive back at the Grange with Ray to straighten out his affairs before they depart for France. He leaves instructions with his housekeeper, the redoubtable Rikje on his absence.

"You know you have authority to run the place in my absence as you see fit, Rikje. I trust you implicitly."

She nods as she acknowledges his trust in her. Brad took her and her family in when they had nothing but the worn soles of their shoes bound to their feet, owing their lives to the team's valour. While Brad still held to his promise to her departed husband Joost he would take care of her and the children, Rikje insisted on paying her way and helping him run the place in his absence. With the departure of his own adoptive parents on their Eastern adventure, Rikje and her ragtag bunch of kids were a strange sort of family. Certainly the children adored Brad and Ray.

"So when will you return, Lord Colbert?" she asks, locking his chest and padlocking it down. "There that's all done. Are you sure you don't want me to pack for you, Master Person?"

"You spoil him too much, Rikje." he reproves her lightly, "Person is perfectly capable of packing for himself."

"'Tis no hardship to do things for Master Person, sir. And I'm nearly all done." Brad doesn't push it, knowing that she'd probably packed for Walt as well.

"I have no idea, Rikje . Lord Burghley and Lord Walsingham indicated this might be a long term assignment."

"Hopefully not years, Sir." she says curiously.

"Who knows, Rikje?"

She nods comfortably, easily taking on the responsibility assigned to her by Brad. "You can trust me to hold the fort until you return."

Brad shrugs. Frankly she knows as much as he does about the mission and just how long it will take. "Who knows, Rikje?"

As soon as she leaves Ray grins. "I think even 'Iron Dimples' was concerned about the length of our tour. Didn't Lord Burghley give you any more details about the assignment?"

"You know as much as I do. And I wouldn't let Rikje hear you call her that. You know she doesn't like it." 

Ray shrugs. "She knows I mean it affectionately. Think the world of her and the little ones, she knows that."

Frankly Brad isn't so sure that she does, but sometimes there's no arguing with Ray. His life is far too short to start arguing about it anyway.

"Come, we must retire for the evening. We have an early start for the harbour, and we must hit the ground running when we arrive. Lord Burghley and Lord Walsingham want results, and let's not forget we shall have Lord Ferrando to contend with as well."

"Lord Ferrando? He's joining us out there?" asks Walt with interest. "Where did you hear that from?"

"Well, you know what they say: you don't come to work to enjoy yourself and we're all going to be earning our gold over there, there's no doubt about that." Brad says, "Now I will see you in the morn. Be ready to work, gents.

"Aye, Sir!"


	4. At Lord Norreys’ House

Paris, a week later

 

When Sir Francis meets them at the quayside, they are having their goods unloaded into the cart.

"Gentlemen, so glad that you could join me so swiftly. I have great need of you all."

"Sir-" They all salute their boss smartly. 

Sir Francis is a familiar figure with his dark fox-like face and shrewd demeanour. A clever man, a ruthless man, who saw their individual talent, groomed and exploited them until they were perfect instruments for England's defence. To a man they all love and respect him as their leader, even more so because he is happy to work with them in the field when necessary. 

'Sir Brad.' He shakes his hand. 'Lord Hasser. I don't think I've met you before.' He says, his sharp dark eyes meeting Trombley.

'Harold James Trombley.' Brad introduces the new guy. 'He's a new addition to the group. Lord Burghley and I are training him to become a full member of the group. This is his first big assignment.'

Sir Francis catches the eye roll shared by Ray and Walt. Obviously they do not share Brad's favourable opinion of the new recruit. He manages to be polite as he extends his hand.   
'Quite a first assignment. Welcome, Mr Trombley.'

Trombley stares at the great Lord Walsingham with a deceptively guileless youthful face. Brad imagines he might be a little star struck, though he'd never admit that in public. Ray would tear him to shreds for the next couple of years.

'You will be staying at Sir Henry Norreys's house at first before we present you all at court. We have a lot to do before you get to that stage. I'll brief you later in the day once we arrive at the house. I imagine you all want food and a good night's sleep.'

'You'll tell us more about the case then?'

"I'll try to. It seems this case is a great deal more complicated than it at first appears. You'll be pleased to find out I will be on assignment with you all. You will all join me at court for now-"

This was unusual. Sir Francis usually left them to work independently, trusting them with a great deal of autonomy. The group sneak careful looks at each other. 

"At Court?" Ray asks. This was quite a lot different from their usual modus operandi, usually relying on stealth and subterfuge .

"Yes." Sir Francis replies. "Rest assured, Person all will be explained once we arrive at base."

* * *

When they get back to the house on the Rue de Roi de Sicile, they meet Sir Francis's new wife Ursula , a imposing woman dressed in black wool with a big starched ruff emblazoned with discreet blackwork round her neck. Her greying dark hair is pulled back severely underneath a white starched coif.

"Well she looks like a bindle of laughs!-" mutters Ray under his breath to Walt, gaining a sharp elbow to the side for his troubles.

'This is the group?' she says, a disapproving tone to her voice. She looks them up and down, plainly thinking they all are no better than they should be.

'Yes, dear wife.' Sir Francis says pleasantly, ignoring her mild censure. 'They will be staying with us until further notice, so try to make them feel welcome.'

-0-

"Sir Henry Norreys and Lord Stephen Ferrando, at your service." Meeting the elder statesman, Brad notes he looks harassed. There are deep lines on his face and more grey hairs than he remembers. _France must have really taken it out of Lord Norreys._ By contrast, Lord Ferrando actually looks younger and more revitalised than when he last saw him. He's a distinguished figure of a man with his silvering hair and very penetrating blue eyes. He and Sir Francis are quite a team, both as driven and ruthless as the other.

'Sir Henry will be joining the briefing later. He has been the diplomat here for some time and has been an invaluable source of information as he hands over his duties to me.' He says in that distinctive raspy tone of his.

'Well, I wish you better luck of it, Sir Francis than I have had. These people would drive a saint to drink!' Norreys declares. 'Frankly, I count myself well shot of the place.'

"We're going to have to observe the suspects at close range. Get to know their feuds and intrigues intimately. Extract confidences and confessions. We need to gather information and judge the severity of the threat posed by the de Guise clan. They can't be doing this alone. Our job is to see just how far the rabbithole goes."

The team grasp what he for the moment leaves unsaid. Does the conspiracy go further than we thought? Right to the top?

He rolls out a scroll of parchment onto the table. "Gather round, gents." The team examine the scroll.

"This is a family tree of the de Guise family. Just as a start, so you can all get to understand the family ties that bind this court and who we may be able to trust or not. This is our first weapon in the investigation."

"Very detailed, Sir." Brad traces the lines on the parchment, starting to get a feel for the family ties that dominate the French court.

"They are one of the richest and most powerful families in France. By a combination of clever intermarriage and inheritance they control vast tracts of land. Their scions hold positions of authority within the army and the church, even at court. Until not so long ago here we would be paying our court to them rather than the royal family, the Valois. If we are investigating their involvement in a plot against our queen, we will have to use all our skill and tact."

'Lord Ferrando?'

'It's been a troublesome time, I'll admit it. 'Things haven't been easy. But Ferrando doesn't give up at the first difficulty and neither will his men. Will they ?"

"No, Sir!" the men say in chorus.

"Why does he always talk about himself in the third person? Does he know how odd it sounds?" whispers Ray. Walt nudges him hard in the ribs to shut him up before Ferrando notices.

'I'm expecting Monsieur de Nançay here in a couple of minutes, so I'll have to introduce you.' Ferrando remarks. "A most useful connection to have at court, I assure you. There's no one who knows the inner workings of the royal palaces better. After all, 'tis his job to guard them."

Sir Francis is interested at once. 'The Captain of the Swiss Guard?'

'Yes, a rum fellow, but useful in his way." Godfather tells them, running through his commentary at a brisk rate. "He's like most of them, highly biased against Huguenots of any type so try not to take any cracks of his to heart. You'll find sirs, that public opinion is strongly Catholic here. The prospect of Henri bringing his entourage here, as he is perfectly entitled to do as a King of Navarre is setting off a veritable powder-keg of feeling in the city.' 

Brad nods understanding what Ferrando is telling him at once. Religious tolerance is causing all sorts of social pressures within the city. They need to remember this during their investigation into de Guise's doings.

-0-

Nançay is a rather dashing man, younger than Brad and Walt expected with long dark blond hair and very blue eyes which suit his very Teutonic features. His doublet and breeches are of the very latest Italian cut, the very height of fashion. Only a highly polished gorget and an epeé at his belt shows him for a soldier.  
He looks them up and down with all the practiced hauteur of a courtier, nose wrinkling in disdain.

'I find I have need of an entourage, to help me get through my workload. This is Lord Brad Colbert, Lord Walter Hasser, Master Ray Person and Master Harold James Trombley. My entourage newly arrived from England.' Sir Francis says, a hint of a playful smile threatening to come through. Brad fancies that his boss likes to mess with Monsieur de Nançay for sheer amusement. It wouldn't remotely surprise him.

'Yet more Protestants flooding into the city, clogging up the Faubourg de St Germain. Well, this will be an interesting state of affairs.'

'Do you have a problem with our faith?' enquires Brad, polite as ever. He's deliberately ignoring Sir Henry Norreys's futile attempts to shut him up.

'I don't have a problem with your beliefs.' Nançay replies with a scornful curl of his lips. 'You will have to account to heaven for your heresies. I am concerned with civil unrest in my city.'

'We will not bother anyone if you will not bother us. We are reasonable men. But if we are insulted, we will respond in kind.'

"And what is that meant to mean?"

Brad holds the other man's gaze. "Exactly what I said."

"If I thought you were that foolish, I would consider what you just said as a threat."

Brad doesn't have patience for this preening idiot. "You may consider it how you like, sir. You will have to account to heaven for your stupidity, won't you?"

Brad draws off his gauntlet and throws it down in front of Nançay. "Pick it up, sir."

 

Ursula cannot believe Brad is challenging Nançay to a duel when he has only been in the country for a couple of hours.

'Lord Colbert! Sir Francis, aren't you going to do something?'

'About what?' he says to his wife, politely.

'Lord Colbert just challenged Monsieur de Nançay to a duel!'

Sir Francis shrugs, barely paying attention to his wife.

'Aren't you going to try and stop them, husband?'

'No.' he says, blunt as ever. 'Why should I?'

'Francis!'

"The French have to learn respect for my men. I wouldn't feel bad for Sir Brad; he's perfectly capable of defending himself. If I was a gambling man, which I'm not-" he adds, at a sharp glance from her. "-I would feel sorry for Nançay. He obviously has no idea what is about to happen, or he wouldn't have been so hasty to challenge him to a duel."

 

Brad draws his sword and takes the requisite amount of paces. He's stripped down to his shirt and jerkin.

"These are the rules of engagement. Three bouts, five minutes each. First to draw blood from their opponent wins the round. Any illegal moves and you forfeit the match. Are we agreed, Gentlemen?" Godfather says.

"Agreed." says Brad with a sharp businesslike nod. He's observing the way his opponent moves, looking for trends, for weakness in his technique. He's fairly confident in his own fighting style: his trainer puts the team through their paces on a regular basis. Signor Reyes is worth his weight in gold. If Sir Francis and Godfather didn't object, he'd like to get him shipped out here, keep the team on their toes.

Brad has the advantage of a longer reach and longer legs, but Nançay is by no means a pushover. He's a scrappy fighter, always pushing the boundaries of acceptable conduct in his effort to win the bout. He's obviously been trained by a Florentine and quite well too. But there's distinct gaps in his fighting technique under pressure which Signor Reyes's tutelage has taught him to exploit, and Brad's going to take full advantage of it.

Brad knocks the epeé from Nançay's hand. It clatters to the ground. Brad puts his foot on the blade, threatening to snap it. He briefly considers it, but decides against it. After all, he's won the match. No need to be obnoxious about it. He's perfectly capable of being magnanimous.

"Do you submit, Sir?" he asks with an exaggerated politeness which could so easily come across as insolence.

Nançay's eyes gleam with anger. His pride has been severely bruised by Brad's victory.  
Nançay manages to lay two or three good punches before Brad seizes him and bends his arm right back

"Do you submit now, or do I have to break your arm to make my point? Do not force the issue as I'm losing all patience." Though his voice is quiet and measured there's no doubt that Brad will do as he says.

Nançay is silent, obviously reluctant to cede the match. Brad merely puts a shade more pressure on the limb.

"I submit." Nançay grits out. "Damn your hide!"

"Good. There is some intelligence there deep down."

"There's no need to needle him, Colbert." Sir Francis says with an indulgently reproving smile. "You've proved your point."


	5. The Pearl of the Valois

'Go out and enjoy yourselves, for we have work to do at court. If you hear anything of interest be sure to report to me in the morning. It's important we get a good idea of what the people think of what's happening here.'

'Yes, Sir.' Walt says dutifully. 'Aren't you coming, Brad?' 

'No. Signor Espera, Brad and I have things to discuss. I trust you will be able to keep these lads firmly under your control.' Sir Francis informs him.

'Why's he keeping us under control?' asks Ray.

'Because frankly, he's the most sensible member of the group.' retorts Brad, quick as a whip.

Ray pouts. 'If I wasn't in such a good mood, I'd be offended by that statement, you know, Brad.'

Walt doubts his team leader's faith in him. Trombley is at best a law unto himself. God help him if he decides to get into a fight with any of the natives, and as for Ray-  
I'm thoroughly screwed aren't I? He thinks.

* * *

** Paris, town centre**

The group find themselves a decent tavern down by the Rue de la Vannerie and commandeer a table close enough that Walt can start to eavesdrop on the Parisian's conversations. Unsurprisingly, the royal family and the impending wedding are the main subjects for discussion among the common people. He kind of enjoys it; his first chance to mingle with the men and women of the town. To rub shoulders, breathe the same frowsy muggy air and learn what they know.

'It's just asking for trouble inviting all these Huguenots here for the wedding. Henri should have known better than to bring them here.' says one man, nursing a pint of ale fresh from the cool cellar.

'He was hardly going to come by himself, was he? The lad has a damn sight more sense than to walk alone into a hornet's nest like court.'

"Dunno how he can bear to ally himself with such a corrupt family . Every time he looks at the Queen Mother, does he not remember Jeanne d'Albret and her fate?'

'What can he do? The King and his mother want peace, so peace is what he'll get.'

'It won't last-' replies his friend with a dark look. "It never lasts."

"What a time to be having a wedding! When people in the street cannot buy good wheaten bread to fill their bellies. Nothing but that awful rye rubbish, if you can scrape the coins together. Our coins we slaved for are worth nothing but tin! But the great and good must parade past us in pearls and silks !"

"Hush, you mustn't talk like this, neighbour Caviche." tuts another man, wiping the froth off his moustache. "It does no good to resent your betters."

Caviche smirks nastily. "They ain't my betters!"

"Your drunk mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Caviche. Be wise."

"Be wise, Mouchon? Because I see and say what you're all too scared to comment on? The king is a weakling, ruled by his mother or Coligny in all things. You could understand it when he was a child but he's a grown man now. Anjou is a pervert; Alençon is a rash fool, warped and bitter in mind."

"Misshapen jealous little runt. Evil-minded too." Added another woman by the bar with a sour face.

"Lock him in the cellars, he'll get us all arrested for sedition if we aren't careful!" urges one of his friends. "He can't be trusted to come out with a word of sense once he's had a skinful of brandy. You ought to do something about him, Mouchon."

"He was first at the barricades during the riots. I saw him!" claims one man by the fire. "Down by the ruins of Phillipe de Gastine's house back when all that trouble brewed."

"Hush, let's not talk of that." Mouchon says hurriedly.

Walt is carefully listening to Caviche's bitter rant. He might be drunk as a lord, but he is voicing the resentment of the common people. They are simply scared that one day someone important will over hear and know how they truly feel about their betters.

 

The door opens, and two masked women walk in, wrapped in velvet cloaks. They seems familiar with their surroundings, the landlord rushing up to greet them. The taller woman shrugs off her cloak with an elegant movement, revealing long dark hair that shines almost deep chestnut in the firelight. She bends to unstrap her chopines. The other woman picks them up and places them by the door.

"She's staring at us, I'd swear it." Walt says draining his tankard of wine.

"Who is?" Ray perks up, after having a shot of Calvados. His eyes shine bright in the tavern light. Walt idly wonders whether his mouth tastes of the sweet liquor, the flavour of tart yet sweet apples on his lips and has to quash that thought very swiftly indeed. He takes a draught to mask his interest, his lips feeling parched.

Walt waves his tankard towards the masked women at the bar. "Them."

Ray lets out an appreciative whistle before turning back to needle Walt goodnaturedly. "You sure you're not imagining it? You know a sweet virtuous man like you might have trouble holding your drink. Might be mistaken."

"Fuck you and your smart mouth, Ray." Walt says without any heat.

"Wait, she's coming this way."

Behind the dark velvet half-mask her eyes are watchful, a knowing smile on her face.

"May I join you?" she asks, with a sweet smile curving that full pink rosebud of a mouth. She's holding two bottles of white wine. He can see the condensation on the glass bottles and it makes his mouth water. "I'd like some company tonight."

Walt isn't sure and flashes a warning look at Ray. He isn't paying attention to him, charmed by the beauty of the mysterious masked woman, all porcelain skin and pink full mouth.

"Certainly." he says, ignoring Walt's kick to the shin underneath the table. The other woman opens the bottles and starts to pour a generous amount into each of the goblets.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Ray?" he frowns.

Ray's smile is all teeth. "Don't worry 'bout me, Walt." He turns to her. 'Please join us, my lady."

She brushes the dust off the bench and sits down, spreading her skirts in a graceful gesture. Walt notices how she sits close to Ray, boldly invading his personal space. Walt notices that he doesn't seem to mind, and the thought needles him more than he'd like to admit right now.

"What brings you to our fair city?" she asks, idly running her fingers up and down the stem of the glass. "Three Englishmen far away from home?"

Walt is nudging him furiously in an attempt to get him to shut up and not reveal their true purpose especially to a stranger.

"We're on business." he snaps, his voice terse before Ray can speak.

"Business... How very intriguing-" she drawls, making the words sound like a sex invite.   
Walt can sense her eyes travelling up and down the length of his body, blatantly checking him out. A small, languorous smile starts at the corner of her mouth. Evidently, the lady likes what she sees.

She orders more wine from the landlord in a clipped aristocratic voice which gets Walt's attention, despite the amount of alcohol he's consumed. He's pretty convinced that if Ray wasn't thinking solely with his pintle right now, it would be setting off his suspicions as well. It's a voice accustomed to being obeyed at once, a voice of privilege and charm. The landlord Mouchon hastens to obey, head bowed. 

_Who is she,_ Walt wonders, _and what does she want with us?_

He catches a waft of jasmine, honeysuckle and musk, an expensive and sensual blend that makes him want to bury his nose in her pearly flesh. From the dark blue and silver brocade of her low cut dress, he realises she must be wealthy, especially with the sumptary laws of her country; a lady in waiting out at night or a merchant's woman out for a cheap thrill and some sexual danger. Perhaps she's a courtesan, a high class prostitute scoping for custom before the wedding.

As the wine arrives at the table, Walt notices the wine is of a finer vintage than the slop the landlord had been giving them all night and passing it off as his best. He even provided some simple food for the table, some bread, butter and cold meats. Obviously a well known and favoured customer.

Trombley's of no help whatsoever, passed out in a puddle of wine and drool on the table. Walt is convinced the bugger is snoring. He isn't in the mood to drag him back home and face the icy disapproval of Ursula Walsingham. He has to stay here, he tries to convince himself. Who knows what trouble Ray will get himself into if he isn't here to keep an eye on him?

 

To her credit the masked lady isn't bad company. She's quick witted with an opinion and quip for any situation that comes up. Not the delicate flower she might appear from first sight. Walt notices a chased silver scabbard on her girdle, a pretty delicate thing. Deadly too, probably with a wicked sharp point on it. He wonders how well she knows how to use it.  
Her finely shaped pale hand lies boldly on Ray's codpiece and she gives a little squeeze that elicits a soft groan from Ray. Things have just got a whole lot more interesting.

"There's only one thing I want at the moment-" she purrs, her tongue running briefly over her pink plush lower lip."You're a man of some intelligence, I'm sure you can work it out."

Ray's dark eyes are wide with shock and delight, as if he can't quite believe his luck.  
"Come outside for a moment, my sweet foreigner." She says, her voice pitched low and seductive.

Ray nods dreamily, almost as if his wine has been spiked with aphrodisiac. 

 

"Are you nuts?" hisses Walt. "What the fuck, Ray?"

Ray gives him his most charming smile, but Walt isn't remotely mollified.

"You don't even know her! What are you doing?" he says, surprising himself with his own vehemence. 

"What rattled your cage, Walt? Are you mad 'cause I'm about to get some?"

Walt is irritated but he attempts to keep his cool, ignore the fact that Ray always knows how to get to him.

"You don't know who she is! She could be anyone!"

Ray smiles maddeningly at him; Walt resists the urge to shake him until his teeth rattle.

"This isn't a joke, Ray." He grits out.

"I'm not professing undying love for the wench, Walt. I'm out in Paris, I'm not working tonight and I just want to get my dick wet. Is that a problem?"

Walt knows that Ray isn't going to listen to him, not with the mood he's in. "Well, don't expect me to get you out of this scrape. You're on your own."

Ray doesn't even look back as she practically drags him out of the door by his prick.  
This is not going to end well, thinks Walt wearily. And I'm meant to be the responsible one. The wine still lies on the table, half full. Walt sniffs it, and dips a finger into the goblet flicking his tongue out to taste. No adulteration as far as he can tell.

 

Walt staggers outside to see what Ray is doing and stumbles into a petite flame haired woman standing outside the tavern, leaning against the wall with a bored and world weary expression in her dark, bold eyes. She recognises him from the table and beckons him over.

"Are you with him?" she asks in a jaded voice.

"Who?" Walt asks.

"The man with her in the alleyway."

"Where are they?" he asks, urgency spiking his voice.

Her grin broadens, revealing dimples in her cheeks. "You mean you can't hear them from here?"

He takes the hint and follows the sound .

'Hey! It's fine. Don't thank me for the tip!' she yells behind him with a raucous bawdy laugh.

 

At first he can't see them down the alleyway, then his eyes get accustomed to the gloom.  
Ray's leaning against a doorway, his breeches pulled hastily open. Walt tries and fails not to stare at his friend's dick. The masked woman is on her knees; one hand on Ray's hip pinning him to the doorframe, the other between her own thighs, her midnight blue and silver brocade skirts hastily rucked up high around her legs. She licks at the head, teasing the sensitive underside, taking it slowly into her mouth as if it were a honeyed plum. He can't take his eyes from the scene in front of him, and though he feels guilt watching his friend in such a private moment, he is incredibly turned on, his own length uncomfortably stiff in his breeches.

Ray's head is thrown back, an expression of tortured ecstasy on his face, dark eyes fluttering shut as he fucks her mouth without mercy.

He's so captivated by the scene he doesn't realise exactly when his hand strays into his breeches and grasps hold of his erection until it's done.

 _Surely I won't go to hell for one touch;_ he tells himself, knowing even as the thought occurs it is a lie. There's no way this is going to be one touch.

His hand moves quickly on his prick desperately seeking some kind of completion. He knows he's fucked on so many levels; getting turned on watching his best friend being sucked off in a Paris alleyway by a mysterious whore. Wishing it was him down on his knees, mouth open, letting him slide his dick between his lips. Feeling the weight of it on his tongue. Walt knows that he's wanted him for so long, but he couldn't say anything. Fearing he'd spoil everything if he spoke, if he told the truth.

She pulls away from his dick, looking up at him from behind the mask. Ray makes a sound of sheer naked want, curling his hand round the dark silk of her hair to keep her in place.

"I want you to come. All over me. Please?" she gasps, pulling down the front of her dress until it hangs open; revealing her pale, pert breasts with the rouged pink nipples spilling out of her stays. Her hand is stroking him slow, hard and dirty, aiming him at the pale expanse of her tits.

"Stain me. Mark me. Please." she groans, sounding almost as tortured as he is.  
Ray groans low in his throat, wiry body taut with impending climax. Walt's almost right there with him. He has to force himself to keep his eyes open, not to miss a second as Ray comes with a groan and a curse all over her chest and neck. He bites his lip to keep from making noises and revealing himself as his orgasm hits.

Walt closes his eyes for no more than a couple of seconds, mind blown. When his eyes open she's standing in front of him, cupping his face in her small pale hands and taking his mouth with a savage hunger.

"You love the taste, don't you?" she says when they break apart for breath. "You crave his prick as much as I do."

He nods, helpless with his own desire and shame, yet tremendously excited. Tingling with that weird sensation that inflames his senses and sends him half crazy. He does want her, with a sudden hunger he's not felt for a whore for months.

"Lick me clean, then."

He does, lapping up every bit of come and sweat from her breasts, feeling her shudder and gasp underneath him as his tongue moves over her nipples.

"I want, oh God, I want, so much." She's incoherent with lust. "Don't stop." she curls her leg round his thigh, pulling him closer.

She grinds against him, kissing him deeply. "I want you both. Tonight. We'll get a room." she says in between swopping frantic kisses with Walt and slipping an exploring hand into his breeches. 

Making up her mind, she breaks away from him looking back at them with a wicked smile beneath the mask.

"Well, what are you both waiting for?"

* * *

She hasn't wasted any time. By the time Ray and Walt re-enter the tavern, she has given the landlord a handful of gold and swept up the stairs followed by the red-haired maid who merely graces them with an insolent knowing smirk. Walt gets the strong feeling that this has happened more than once and it's part of a routine for the maid.

"Don't mind Henriette, she's just mad she doesn't get to share this time." the woman's voice floats down the stairs carelessly.

This time? thinks Walt. He can't help but be intrigued by her off-hand comment.   
She shimmies out of her blue and silver brocade dress and it falls to the floor in a decadent heap. Quick hands unhook her stays as she peels the restrictive garment off and casts it to the floor. She slips her chemise off revealing her body fully in the firelight.

Her body is as pale and pampered as her complexion, all soft white thighs and gently curved belly. He sees a red raised mark near the top of her thigh which looks like a bite mark marring the milky-pale perfection of her flesh. He moves to touch it but she diverts his hand and moves it towards the dark damp silk of the pelt between her thighs.

 _Who would deliberately mar such beauty?_ Walt thinks briefly as she lies sprawled out on the straw filled pallet and beckons Walt to her. Her eyes meet his from behind the mask, unflinching and direct. "Come to me, my handsome stranger."

Walt looks unsurely at Ray who settles down to watch the show.

"Don't be shy, Walt. I got some. I want to see you with her." He looks up at his friend and he can't resist pressing a kiss against his mouth, his tongue sliding against the seam. "Please, Walt. For me."

She turns to him with a temptress smile behind her mask, turning her attention from her fascinated observation of their embraces."I just want you to please me, both of you, all night long. Can you do that for me?" she purrs.

He relents. _Why object to one debauchery when he's already committed a dozen tonight?_

"You have such a lovely body." She sighs softly, her hands and mouth exploring his flesh as he kneels above her. She leaves a faint trail of carmine kisses on his light golden stomach. "So athletic and strong…I can't wait to unwrap you both. Like a present, just for me."

She kisses him deeply, her tongue exploring his mouth. Walt pulls away, running a tender thumb over her kiss-bruised lips.

"Take your mask off." he says suddenly.

She recoils for a second before getting herself under control. Walt is convinced she must be a lady-in-waiting or an aristocrat. That has to be years of training oneself to hide all strong emotion. To present a pretty façade to the rest of the world, like a fragile doll. Whoever asks if a porcelain figurine has feelings?

"Why?"

"I don't like the idea of sleeping with a woman when I don't know her name. What she looks like."

She tries for flippancy, thought it doesn't convince either of them. "Most men like the idea of an anonymous swive. Less complicated. Why spoil things ?"

"Call me old-fashioned but I'm not like most men."

She shakes her head. "You're making a mistake."

"What do you have to hide?" he coaxes her, guiding her soft pale hand down to his prick.   
She wraps it round him, giving him a curious stroke that makes him shudder. "You know I want you so very much. I'm hardly going to change my mind because you removed your mask."

"You really want to know?" she asks, sounding terribly young and unsure.

"I do. Don't be afraid to reveal yourself to me." he cups her face, kissing her one more time. "I won't hurt you."

She reaches round to untie the strings and the mask comes away in her hands.  
"My name is Margot." she says with a defiant tilt of her chin. She looks him straight in the eye, defying him to back away, to reject her now that he knows her true identity. "Satisfied, now? Got a tale to regale all your friends with? Now you can walk away and leave-"

Walt stares at the girl. Even with most of the carmine kissed off her full mouth she's lovely beyond measure. His fingers trace along the slope of her nose, a touch long for perfection. The cheekbones, high and refined. The dark determined arch of her brows.

"You're so godamn gorgeous. Why would you think that I would ever reject you?" he says softly, stroking the soft youthful curve of her face in the lamplight. He kisses her again, persuading her to open up to him, telling her without words she can trust him, breaking down her defences.

The stubborn lines of her mouth soften under his as she kisses him back. She looks up at him, dizzy with newly ignited desire. Dark blue eyes with those straight dark lashes like long lush spikes, soft and hazy.

"My name is Walter." he says simply.

She slides her arm round his neck, pulling him closer. He can feel the soft rounded weight of her breasts against him.

"Walt." she repeats with a beguiling smile.

 

She's sprawled wantonly on the pallet, long dark hair streaming out over the pillows like a river of inky-black silk. Walt can't believe she would so willingly give herself to both of them for the night with no shame.

Walt's fingers slide deep inside her, while Ray sucks on her clit. She gives a helpless groan, hips moving involuntarily to their rhythm. She's literally sobbing with pleasure.  
'Don't stop. Please don't stop-' she gasps out, her words disintegrating into a helpless jumble of pleas and sighs. 

He feels her tighten around his fingers and changes his angle very slightly, aiming towards the front wall of her slick quim. She seems to like that a lot by the breathless quality of her groans and the dampness seeping down into his palm.

She pulls him back up to meet her, sliding her tongue into his mouth craving the taste of herself on it.

"I can't wait." She says. "I need you inside me, Walt. Please." 

Ray moves off the bed. "Be my guest, Walt."

"You don't need to be gentle." She says, her voice ragged with lust. "Just do it."

He hitches her legs up and apart, the better for thrusting deep into her. She clings on to him, matching him thrust for quickening thrust. It's hard fast and forceful. There's a selfishness in the way they both chase their own pleasures. 

He doesn't know her. There's an emotional barrier she keeps between them, like an invisible pane of glass despite the intimacy of what they are doing. He can't help feeling a slight impression of dissatisfaction like he's being used as her own personal sexual plaything. The thought courses through his mind perhaps she is thinking of someone else entirely and using his body to sate her longings. 

She presses her hand to her mouth as if to suppress a name slipping out in the heat of the moment. Walt doesn't have time to think about it before his climax wipes every other thought from his mind for that moment.

She lays back, briefly sated, her dark hair damp and clinging to her. A satisfied smile curves round her mouth, making her look slightly cynical yet sensual. Walt's surprised that if she is a whore she seems to enjoy it and revel in her passion, rather than be cold, clinical and focused on gold, like most whores of his brief acquaintance. "I feel like I'm alive. For at least a little while. At last." She whispers, still coming down from the high of her orgasm.

Walt wonders what she means by that. What kind of life does she lead that she seeks relief and oblivion with strangers? Has she any idea of the danger she courts?

 

Walt's been in many situations, but this is definitely one for the books.

He has one hand on Margot's hip guiding her back and forth onto his prick. Her long dark hair slips to the side, exposing a faint red welt on her shoulder. The long line of her back between them as she leans forward, her small waist flaring out to her rounded arse.   
The contrast of her pale soft flesh and his rough hands holding her as he thrusts into her.  
His hand slips round to between her thighs, seeking the firm damp pearl at the apex. The three of them are pressed together in a hot tangle of limbs, Ray's lips at her breast. She squirms and writhes between them, overloaded with sensation, greedy for more pleasure.

"Oh Yes." She sighs as she registers his touch. "Just a little bit harder. Ah yes, that's it. Perfect. Don't stop, either of you!"

Ray reaches out and touches his forearm, his dark eyes wide open as he watches his face. Hungry for the sight of him.

Walt can't help himself. He loses control as he watches Ray's face.

"So close. Jesus Christ, Walt. Whoever would have thought?"

Walt has a realisation shocking in it's sudden clarity. _It's Ray's touch that made me see stars. All the emotions I don't feel for her, I feel for him. It's Ray that I want.  
_

_Oh Lord, I'm so screwed, aren't I?_

* * *

Next morning

Henriette knocks on the door and pushes it open. Her face doesn't even twitch at the sight of the three of them sprawled together in a lascivious tangle of bare limbs.

"My lady?" she says softly, shaking her awake.

Margot prises herself away from Walt's sleeping embrace and raises her head, long dark hair all rumpled and messy.

"What?" she mumbles, cracking one eye open.

"Nançay is here. We must leave, ma cherié. It will soon be daylight."

She makes a noise of protest and buries her face in Walt's shoulder.

"Come on, my lady." Henriette insists, shaking her a little. "You know we cannot be late."

She gets up then, making a reluctant effort to wake up, waking up Walt. He blinks sleepily at the intruders, as she kisses him and Ray goodbye.

'Thank you-' she breathes into his ear.

Nançay quickly hooks her back into her ruined finery. Finding her chopines carelessly kicked off in a passion and wrapping her cloak round her. It's way too early to work out why that blond arrogant French lord Brad had clashed with is here in the room, thinks Walt as he prods Ray awake.

"What's the matter with you? Let a man get some fucking sleep, will you? I'm fucking worn out after last night. Man, that Margot wore me out. Gorgeous filthy wench-" mutters Ray, trying to grab the counterpane and failing.

"Ray, we have a visitor."

His dark eyes fly open and widen. "I know you." He says slowly, looking at Nançay. "We met at Lord Henry Norreys's. You don't like Protestants." 

Nançay nods briefly in acknowledgement. "Go, Henriette, and wait for me downstairs. I want to have a quick word with these gentlemen here."

She curtseys rather perfunctorily to him and leads Margot away who's still yawning.

 

"Sounds ominous." Ray observes as the women leave.

_Ray and his fucking smart mouth is going to get us beat up one day. Now is not the time to be sassing an armed man when you're lying in bed naked with another man._

"Shut up, Ray. Seriously." Walt mutters.

"Did you hurt her?" Nançay asks tersely. His blue eyes have a dangerous gleam in them.

"Hurt her? Of course not, why would we hurt her? We might be foreigners, but we're not complete savages you know." Ray actually sounds offended at the thought.

"She made it clear that she wanted us both for the night. And what's it to do with you, anyway?" Walt says rather warily.

Nançay seems satisfied with their protestations."It's my job to keep her safe." he says shortly. "I've been shadowing you most of the night."

Walt blushes at what Nançay must have seen down that alleyway.

"Really? Because you aren't doing a great job of it at the moment."

"Ray!" Walt claps a hand over his friend's mouth.

"He didn't mean to offend. He just has little control over his mouth." Walt says hastily, trying to keep the peace. "It's just that she's very young to be wandering the streets of Paris sleeping with strangers. Don't her parents know where she is?"

For a moment Nançay drops the tough façade and Walt realises he looks plain weary, dark circles under those blue eyes as he suppresses a yawn. He's probably been up all night searching for her. Following a wild headstrong girl like Margot around making sure she didn't get into trouble cannot be an easy job.

He watches Walt carefully from the window seat. "Didn't she tell you anything about herself? Anything at all?"

"Nothing. I guessed she might be a rich girl or a lady-in-waiting by the quality of her dress but I didn't ask her too many questions. She didn't want to talk of herself and I didn't push her."

Nançay curses quietly under his breath."It's not your fault." He gives a short sharp sigh of exasperation. "Damn, what a mess!"

"Who is she then? Why is it such a godamn mystery? And why do you have to protect her?" asks Ray peppering him with questions.

Nançay gives him a look of consternation. "I can't tell you."

"Can't tell us?"

He doesn't answer but Ray thinks about the words the Frenchman used- he can't-. He starts to get a clue."It's more than your job's worth to tell us. You work for her family."

Nançay nods gratefully. "It's not for me to say who she is. Do you understand? All I can do is thank you for not hurting her and ask you not to breathe a word of this to anyone if you can help it."

Walt and Ray swop glances. It's too damn early in the morning for such a mystery.

"Do I have your word?" he presses, his hand straying to his sword.

Walt puts his hand forward, eager to make peace. "You have my word, monsieur."

"And you?"

By the gleam in his eye Walt can see that Ray still has questions he wants answers to. Perhaps now is not the time though, when they are lying without a stitch on and unarmed.  
"And mine." Ray says reluctantly. Walt knows him too well to believe he's going to let it lie, by any means.

"Good. I must leave now, before we are missed. God speed to both of you." He gives a courtly bow and leaves.

 

They find Trombley stretched out on a settle, blinking painfully in the early morning light.

"Where the hell have you been?" he complains, grunting as his head gets jolted by the movement. "I feel like I'm dying here. I have the worst hangover ever."

"Well, you were putting it away at quite a rate last night. I'm not surprised you feel a bit rough this morning." Ray says, quite reasonably for him.

"Damn, have you guys been having adventures without me? That's not fair!" he grumbles back, practically pouting. "I bet you went and got into a fight with a bunch of townsmen. That's just cruel."

"No one asked you to attempt to drink the tavern dry. I told you to fucking pace yourself, lad. Anyway we've got to get back before Ursula goes nuts, so gird your loins up and suck it up like a man. We're going back to base."

Trombley groans. "Fuck, I can't deal with that irritating bint at the moment. I swear; if I have to listen to her shrill whining voice in my ear going on about how I'm an immoral boy destined for the torments of hell fire I won't be responsible..."

"Is he going to be alright on the back of that pony? He's still so pissed he might fall off. If he smashes his head on the cobbles, Brad will have our guts." asks Walt worriedly. 'You know how he loves his protégé –'

"I'm not pissed!" Trombley interrupts, a little too loudly.

Ray and Walt just exchange a glance.

"Where on earth did we find this fuck-up?" Ray remarks to no one in particular.  
Walt sighs. "Come on, time to get home."

They make it back to the courtyard as the sun is rising. Trombley still clinging on the mane of his pony and looking a distinct shade of pale green.

"You are a mess Trombley, ain't you?" Ray can't resist needling him."Can't take your sorry arse anywhere!"

"Just get me inside and in the vicinity of a chamber pot before I spew everywhere." groans Trombley, too ill to attempt to verbally fight back.

 

Brad's in the courtyard tending his horses with Espera. He greets them with a smirk.  
"Long night was it, boys?"

"You have no idea, Brad. Ouch!" Ray starts, before being nudged by Walt.

"What have you three been up to? asks Brad suspiciously. "Trombley stinks of booze. You both have rouge crushed round your mouths. Ray, you're practically hanging out of your breeches. You all look like you've been dragged through every gutter in Paris backwards." His smirk broadens. "Don't tell me you retards actually got some?"

"I'm going to be sick. Seriously, guys-" groans Trombley, nearly swaying off his pony.  
Poke doesn't even attempt to hide the fact he's laughing his head off at them. "If you weren't such fuck ups, I'd almost be proud of you." He chuckles.

Brad shakes his head at the state of them. "Well, make sure you don't run into Mistress Ursula on your way in. She was asking the housekeeper why you weren't at morning prayers, and had your beds been slept in?"

Ray curses. "Shit. Perhaps you can give her some of your fabled charm Walt, and we'll be able to blag it. She loves you. You're her sweetheart."

Walt flushes at his teasing. "No, I'm not!"

"All you have to do is flutter your eyelashes at her and she'd probably lift her skirts and let you have a go on that wrinkled hairy snatch of hers-"

"Ray!" Brad hisses in warning.

"What?"

Mistress Ursula Walsingham stands on the doorstep looking down her nose at the sorry group. It's very possible she heard Ray's latest diatribe. 

"Gentlemen, so glad you could join us, particularly as we're all going to Court today." She says in a deceptively sweet voice. "In an hour? You didn't forget, did you?"

"Damn, she so heard. She's going to tear strips off us. You and your big mouth, Ray-" mutters Walt. 

Ursula Walsingham does not do sweet. The men of Walsingham's Recon Team privately joke that Sir Francis is a pussycat compared his wife. They never dare to say it to his face, as they respect and idolise him to a man, but secretly they are all convinced he is more than a little scared of her himself.

"Where in the Lords' name have you been?" She sweeps over them, sharp gimlet eyes narrowed in suspicion, her mouth pulled taut with disapproval."Harold James Trombley, you look dreadful." She sniffs at him, her long sharp nose wrinkling in disgust. "My God! You're pickled, man! You're not still drunk, are you?"

His blue eyes stare at her in terror. He resembles nothing less than a young boy caught with his hand stuck in a sweetmeat jar. "Me? No, Mistress Walsingham." He says out of the corner of his mouth, trying not to release any more drink fumes.

Ursula isn't remotely convinced. "I despair for your soul young man, I really do. And you, Master Person-" she says, turning the whiplash of her attention to Ray. "You were meant to be keeping an eye on him!"

"He's a grown man. He should be able to look after himself. I'm not his mother!" Ray ripostes right back.

Ursula clucks her tongue. "I might have known this reprobate is responsible for your debauchery. I bet you dragged poor Sir Walter into it as well."

"Where have you all been?" Sir Francis's quietly authoritative voice cuts through before Ray can reply. "You're not terrorising the men again, are you Ursula?"

"But, Francis-"

"I'll deal with this." he says curtly.  
She gives them all a final filthy look as she goes back into the house.

 

"Sir-" Walt starts. "I can explain everything-"  
Sir Francis looks amused. "I'll talk to you later. If you pull a stunt like that again in front of my wife, I'll leave you to her mercy next time. Luckily for you gentlemen today, I feel merciful. Now get indoors and make yourselves presentable. We ride for Fontainebleau in an hour and a half. We might not be Frenchmen, but that doesn't mean we can't make a good impression when we are presented to the Valois family. We aren't savages."

"Yes, Sir." They say as one.

Sir Francis cracks a small unseen smile as they leave for the house.


	6. Fontainebleau

#### The palace of Fontainebleau

As the horses pull up to the palace of Fontainebleau set in acres of rich woodland, Walsingham confers with the team.

"I'm working on getting a couple of you actually moving into the palace. It would help with liaising with our contact at court. Keep your eyes open and look for opportunities."

"Yes, Sir."

"We need to keep an eye on de Guise. He's a troublemaker, and he has enormous influence at court and in the city. He hates Protestants like us of every type. Needless to say, he'll be looking to cause dissent. So try not to rise to the bait. That means you as well, Trombley."

"Why does everyone assume that I'm going to be the troublemaker?" protests Trombley.

"Probably because everyone else in the team's realised you're seriously unbalanced-" mutters Walt.

 

Brad is puzzled when he spots the arrogant French lord from Sir Henry Norrey's house and he stops to converse with the group civilly.

"Messieurs, and Madame Walsingham-" he says to Ursula with another courtly and polished bow. "Let me have the honour of showing you round. And-" his smile is almost apologetic.   
"-if I could speak to Monsieur Colbert here?"

Walsingham encourages him.

 

"I believe I owe you a sincere and thorough apology." Nançay says candidly as soon as they're alone.

Brad isn't remotely mollified. "You do, do you?"

"I insulted you, your religion and your country. I hope we can start again on a better, more amicable footing." Brad has to wonder who has warned him to lay aside his animosity. Nancay is is being positively friendly right now, eager to be helpful and create some rapport.

The two men size each other up, trying to work out what the other's game is.

'What do you want, Monsieur de Nançay?' Brad asks eventually, looking down on him from his superior height.

He's rather disconcerted to realise his usual tricks of intimidation don't work this time. Not when Nançay is so determined to be friendly. _There has got to be a reason for this, and I'm damned if I know what it is at the moment._

"That we should forget our little disagreement and co-operate with each other. I'm sure we can manage that."

 _Is it really worth antagonising him now? I made my point on the day of the duel, and besides the man may actually be of some use to us. Let bygones be bygones, why not?_ thinks Brad. "Very well." he says warily giving him his hand.

 

Nançay is striding forward at a brisk rate towards the palace. The group are quiet, taking in the surroundings, observing the area. So this is Fontainebleau, one of the many royal palaces dotting France. Henri II had before his tragic and untimely death poured untold amounts of gold into the place turning a retreat outside the environs of the capital into a stunning Mannerist masterpiece, a showcase for French art and culture.

They walk past a charming garden, complete with charming flower covered bowers and flower beds, a bevy of courtly ladies gathered listening to the music of a sole lutenist . They look as picturesque and gorgeous as flowers of the field in their multicoloured silks, brocades and velvet gowns. The gorgeous glittering court resemble the butterflies that swoop and glide in the summer sun. 

The lutenist starts another song, after the applause has died down. Sir Francis stops for a moment listening to the sweet tenor voice singing a song of forbidden courtly love. The sustained notes hang in the air like drops of honey and gold. The team can't see his face, only a fall of shoulder length red gold which obscures his face. A girl sits by his feet in a pink silk dress and ropes of pearls, her face turned up towards his. She's harmonising with him, her voice mellow and sultry like blue velvet underneath fingertips. Such a striking contrast to the purity of his voice.

A woman runs out and accosts Nançay, all wild red hair and dark sparkling eyes. Her dark brown taffeta skirts gathered up in her hands as she runs towards them across the grass revealing a neatly turned pair of ankles and calves. Walt recognises her at once.

"I told you she was a lady-in-waiting or a rich girl. That's the maid Henriette." Whispers Walt to his friend. She winks at Ray shamelessly, a mischievous dimple appearing in her cheek.

"Monsieur de Nançay, would you walk past without introducing your guests? For shame! I know you are a rough soldier but I thought you were more civilised than that." She teases, her sloe black eyes gleaming with kittenish mischief.

Nançay grits his teeth. "I had no such intention, Madame la Duchesse, not at all. I was just leading the English Delegation to the palace."

"Madame la Duchesse?" whispers Ray in an undertone to Walt. "I thought she was just the maid!"

"Shush!" hisses Poke, prodding Ray. 

"Come Nançay, you know they are out hunting and won't be back for hours. Join us for a while. You can't be on duty all the time. Besides-" she adds with a sly air and a wink. 'The Duc d'Anjou is here. You wouldn't pass him by, would you?'

"I'm sorry sirs, we will not stay long, I promise.' Nançay assures them, irritation almost palpable. His mouth pulls into a disapproving line at her needling and there is the merest dash of a blush on his cheeks. 'Just long enough to be polite-" 

 

Henriette sweeps into the bower. "Look what I found! Visitors!" she peals, naughty dark eyes sparkling with malice and mischief. "Handsome visitors! Fresh from England, would you believe?"

The music stops abruptly. Every curious French eye is on them.

"Madame de Nevers?" A man's cultured voice says as they turn to examine the visitors.

"Sir Francis Walsingham. Sir Bradley Colbert, Signor Antonio Espera and Sir Walter Hasser at your service." Lord Walsingham introduces himself.

A dark haired woman in a rich dark pink robe rises from her seat at the lutenist's feet and approaches them, a radiant smile on her face. Walt gets a good look at her face and freezes.

"May I present to you Prince Alexandre Edouard de Valois, Duc d' Anjou and his fair sisters Princesse Claude, Duchesse de Lorraine and Princesse Marguerite de Valois of France."

 

Walt freezes next to him. Brad would swear he heard a stifled curse and as he turn to check on him, Walt's face is blanched as he faces Margot. Something odd is going on. Ray and Walt are obviously trying to hide something but they haven't got the skill to conceal things, not from him. The lad looks very young and terrified as he stares at the princess. Ray's mouth is hanging slightly open. If Brad didn't know better, he would think he'd been struck dumb for once.

"My Lady?" Walt breathes.

She's as shocked as he is. Before she can control herself, she steps forward, taking his hands in hers.

"Walt-" she whispers. Her eyes stray to his mouth for a moment, almost as if she wants to kiss him.

The others are surprised by her break with protocol. Even the rest of the court have noticed and are starting to whisper at this rather unusual greeting.

"Walt? What's going on?" Walsingham says, watching the scene closely.

Walt feels he can't breathe. No wonder she wanted to keep her mask on. Why she defiantly told him her name, as if she expected he would reject her once he'd seen her true face.   
She's a Princess, and standing here in the garden surrounded by her attendants she looks the part, deep rose pink silk gown studded with a wealth of pearls, echoing the precious ropes which bind that long dark river of hair. Walt remembers the silken feel of it against his naked skin in the morning as she kissed him goodbye, and feels empty and bereft inside.

She's leaning towards him before the iron self-control kicks in and she stops herself, presenting an elegant pale hand for him to kiss. 

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Hasser. I hope you enjoy your stay in our home." Her voice is even, back in control once again.

"My Lady-" he kisses her fair hand and feels her hand slide round his neck in a subtle indulgent caress. A bold move considering the circumstances. He can feel someone's stare on the back of his neck. It's the lutenist, who stares at him with an utterly impassive yet slightly insolent face.

She's polite to the others, but shows nowhere near the intimacy she's shown to Walt. She curtseys to Brad, letting her eyes travel over his impressive height but he's totally immune to her wiles. He's seen too many girls like that, too secure in their own opinion of their own allure. There's something in her manner that reminds him of the Lady Eboli and that scandalous song in the Escorial garden that day.

Trombley is utterly starstruck by her beauty up close, gaping as he bends over her lily white hand to pay respect to her.

"My Lady-" he stammers, utterly tongue-tied by her gorgeousness.

Brad elbows him in the ribs. "Don't even think about it, Trombley."

"What?" Trombley squeaks.

* * *

Walsingham strides behind them. "Fall back for a moment, gents. Need to have a word."

They obey with an apprehensive look between themselves.

"Would you like to explain what exactly is going on, Lord Hasser? How did you know the Lady Marguerite?" Walsingham's voice is dangerously quiet and calm.

"Look Walt, we're going to have to 'fess up and tell the truth." Ray says hastily.

Walt is shocked. "Ray, we took a vow! We made a promise to keep silent!"

"Fuck that, Walt! I don't want Lord Francis pissed at me!"

"Well?" Sir Francis interrupts.

Walt swallows nervously. "We met her, Sir. On a night out."

"What?" Walsingham stops so abruptly that Trombley nearly collides into him.

"I had no idea who she was, Sir. Honestly-"

"You're going to tell me everything. Don't even think of leaving anything out."

"She approached Ray while we were in the tavern and propositioned him. I didn't recognise her because she was wearing a vizard at the time."

"Well, she seemed to recognise you very well indeed, Walt."

"Of course she recognised him!" interrupts Ray. "Considering we spent most of the night swiving each other."

"Ray!" Walt protests.

"Sorry Walt, the truth had to come out some time."

"Let me get this straight. You met Marguerite de Valois on your night out, and ended up sleeping with her? Both of you?" Brad asks, absolutely deadpan, a look of complete disbelief on his face.

Walt nods miserably. "She went outside with Ray. I was slightly less drunk, so I followed him. They were down an alleyway-"

Ray can't help grinning, despite the fact that he and Walt are in all sorts of trouble. "Getting my prick sucked. I tell you she might be a Princess of the Blood, but that girl dropped to her knees and sucked cock like a goddamn pro!"

Trombley looks outraged that he missed out. "Hey, when did this all happen?"

"You were drunk, Trombley. I told you to pace yourself, but would you listen to your pal Ray-Ray?"

Trombley sulks, his lower lip jutting out just like a spoilt child denied marchpane. "I can't believe you two have a debauched night with a hot piece like that, and you didn't even bother to wake me? That's wrong. And I bet you got into a fight with some stinking Parisians as well-"

"Trombley, you'd passed out in an alcoholic stupor. I doubt you'd have woken up for the Apocalypse." 

Brad shakes his head. "Dear God. Only you two could fuck a princess by accident..."

"-We got a tavern room and stayed 'til morning. Nançay came to collect her, and made us promise not to tell anyone."

Walsingham sighs. "What a mess! No wonder Sir Henry Norreys can't take any more from these people."

"Why is it so terrible?" asks Brad, trying to make the best of the situation. "Walt and Ray both know better than to brag about this round court and even that Nançay is making more effort to be civil to us. Perhaps we can put this down to a simple case of mistaken identity-"

Sir Francis turns to him. Brad can see the weariness on his face."We're stuck organising terms for the Huguenots. Henri de Navarre is relying on us and our good will to avert outright religious civil war and his bride is out on the streets of Paris giving her body to any man that'll have her . I'd say that's quite a problem, Brad, even for us."  
He sighs. "We cannot let de Guise and his family win. If they do, they'll support Mary Stuart's relentless push for the English throne as well as the Scottish one. The Guise family in power on both sides of the channel? Rabid Catholics such as them? That's bad news for France, and worse for Elizabeth and England. They have to be stopped. The wedding must happen . The peace must hold ."

His brow furrows as he tries to work it out. "What puzzles me is Catherine's role in all this. She must know what her daughter is up to. No, Catherine de' Medici has a long range strategy, and I'm not sure what it means. We'll have to have a meeting about this. Once we've made contact with our agent."

"When will we meet him?" Brad asks.

Walsingham gives him a grim smile. "You already have."

"Already have? In that gaggle of pampered indolent butterflies?" His mind works quickly, running through the men in the group, trying to narrow down candidates. It wouldn't be Anjou or Alençon. I doubt it would be Nançay. One of the pages? The lutenist? Who could it be?

"Patience, Brad. It's the perfect cover. He's one of them. Trusted and adored by the family; in a perfect position to ferret out all their secrets and pass them back to us. He's been doing this for a long time and I know I have his complete loyalty."

"He would never betray us?"

Walsingham smiles. "No. He is my man, through and through."

 

Ursula is thoroughly displeased by the time the group reach the palace.

'Where have you all been? You fell back and left me with all the French. I could see you at the back chattering away in English.'

Sir Francis's voice was curt. 'We were discussing something important that came up. Nothing for you to worry about, my lady.' 

'What was so important, Sir Francis, that you have to leave me with those people-' Her tone leaves him in doubt just how much she disapproves of these courtiers. '-I really must say it was very inconsiderate of you, not to mention anti-social!'

'I do not have time for this, Ursula, not now!'

Her mouth pulls into that disapproving line he knows so well.

'Don't sulk, it won't work with me! Now we must be pleasant and show a front of unity and harmony for the French court. I'm sure you can manage that, dear wife, can't you?'

She glares at him, but his gaze is implacable. She decides to cede for the moment, though this isn't over not by a long shot.  
 


	7. At Court

Brad and the team settle into their quarters. They're cramped and they have to share, but as Sir Francis reminds them, at least they are close to court. They can start the investigation, keep their ears close to the ground. 

Walsingham has managed to regain his composure most remarkably, although he's not above making sarcastic little comments at Walt and Ray's expense whenever the fancy takes him. 

"Screwing a princess." He mutters loud enough that Walt and Ray catch it as they walk down the corridor to their new rooms. "Didn't even know. Didn't you boys even ask for a name, or was that the last thing on your minds? You lads have got to be careful with these French girls-"

Walt doesn't say anything out loud. He manages to control himself from reacting to his boss's goodnatured jibes; he's relieved that at the moment, he and Ray aren't in more serious trouble for their nocturnal exploits. He just lets him vent all down the corridor, hoping he'll get bored and run out of steam eventually.

-0-

"I can't believe I have to share with you?" Trombley says as he reaches his chambers. Walt is already unpacking his belongings, getting used to his surroundings. It's a poky room, but at least it has a small window. All in all, it could have been much worse.  
"Don't worry, the feeling is mutual." He mutters under his breath .

* * *

When Sir Francis and the team are introduced to the King and the Queen Mother, they start to get a feel for the personalities at the court and how this is going to affect their mission.

Catherine is a forbidding woman, clad in deepest mourning as she has been since the death of her husband Henri II. Her sharp dark eyes set in that sallow 'colourless face stare at her new guests. That forbidding stern line of her mouth with its deep dour lines. It's hard to believe that she is the fair, vivacious Margot's mother.

"My Lord Walsingham. I was beginning to wonder when you were going to grace our court with your presence." Even after all these years at the French court, the Italian accent of her youth is still noticeable. It gives her an air of separation, or otherliness.

Sir Francis takes it in his stride, giving the Queen Mother a courtly bow and his most charming smile. Brad wonders how he can bring himself to be pleasant to her, given her grim reputation."I was under instruction from my royal mistress. I wanted to be sure that we had established the terms of negotiation. You must understand that she is very keen to wed at last."

"That lame old mule!" mutters Anjou from his mother's side. He gives the team a provoking smirk as he makes sure they can all hear his insolent remarks.  
Walt's hand instantly goes to his dagger at the insult to his queen. _How dare this perfumed little popinjay insult their Queen!_

"The mincing little creature's wearing more makeup than she is. Don't bother Walt; he's not worth drawing your dagger over." whispers Ray, always ready with a quip to diffuse the situation.

"Peace, Lord Hasser-" hisses Brad, though by the set of his chin and the gleam in his eye, it's obvious he takes equal offence. "Don't give him the satisfaction."

"I'm glad I don't have to marry that wizened old creature with her sore leg. I don't know how I would bear it! " Anjou continues, still trying to provoke the team.

"Enough, Anjou." Catherine says, although the team notice it's without rancour. She strokes his head indulgently, twining his glossy dark curls round her fingers. He preens under her caresses, knowing they mark him out as the favoured one.

"Oh, for a dark alleyway, half an hour and a cudgel." mutters Brad.

 

The king enters still in his riding gear, surrounded by a pack of his dogs.  
"Where have you been?" Catherine asks, sharp as ever. Brad notices the difference in tone between the way that she refers to him and the indulgent tone of voice she reserves for Anjou. _Catherine has favourites, I see. Even among her own children._

"Out hunting. I couldn't bear to be cooped up in the palace a moment longer."

"You have guests, Charles." Catherine says coolly. "You should make an effort and greet them."

He turns to Sir Francis and the team, pulling off his doeskin gauntlets.

"I hope you make yourself at home in our court." Charles says distractedly before devoting himself to his dogs. The pack jostle eager to get near their master. He feeds them by hand, giving them strokes and cuffs depending on their behaviour. "I assume you'll want to discuss your mistress's conditions for the treaty. Tell me; is she keen to ally herself with my brother Alençon?"

"That is the understanding, your Majesty." Walsingham says, neutral as ever.

"I have much to do, but I'll organise a meeting. We'll discuss this at length. I'm sure Elizabeth will have issues she will want resolved before we sign off any treaties." He holds out a hand for Sir Francis to shake, all friendliness and amity. "I welcome you and your team to my court and hope you will all do us the honour of attending my sister's forthcoming wedding. The event of the season!"

 

"What did you notice about the king, apart from his youth?" murmurs Sir Francis to Brad as he passes his protégè.  
 _Notice?_ thinks Brad. Nothing at first. Charles at first glance seems nondescript, having none of the beauty or glamour of his siblings Marguerite or even that irritatingly flamboyant fop Anjou. A wren instead of a swan or a peacock. He's tall and thin with sharp pale pointed features and longish lank light brown hair which no amount of jewels and clothes can disguise and make fashionable. The only remarkable feature that strikes one on first impression is those wide spaced hazel eyes, almost golden in the light. His one claim to beauty.

"An interesting character. Keep an eye on him, Brad."

"He may look like a weakling but I think there's more to him than meets the eye. Did you notice how clearly he took in who we are and what we were doing at his court, without seeming to? This man as unprepossessing as he looks has managed to keep the throne of France for twelve years against the odds. We underestimate him at our peril."

 

Catherine and the king are watching the young courtiers dance, Sir Francis unobtrusively at their side. He notes how they discuss everyone; who's sleeping with whom, who hates the other, the casual lies and intrigue of Court. This is information he needs, he thinks and resolves to get his men into the inner circle of court and start finding out the information they need to foil the plot.

He sees Ray and Margot clasp hands in the courante, laughing gaily at some comment he makes as he brushes close. Sir Francis notices the sweet beguiling smile she bestows on him to the envy of the court bucks preening round them eager for attention. _Interesting,_ he broods, _but that's not what he needs. Ideally he wants something else, something more intimate._

"Oh no, she'll insist on dancing the Volta with de Guise causing another scandal again. This is not good." He hears one courtier with his sharp hearing say to another as they pass.

"Ah, but we have new blood in the water. Watch and observe, things could get very interesting here."

 

As the slow insistent pulse of the Volta starts , Margot slowly raises her hands and claps to signal the start of the dance. De Guise confidently steps forward for their practiced ritual of defiance, but she moves straight past him, leaving him stranded on the dance floor to his fury, and gestures to Walt.

"Go on." urges Ray with a nudge. "She wants you to dance with her."

"The Volta?"

"It'll be fine. Don't worry about it. You know the steps, don't you?"

Walt feels self-conscious as he performs the opening steps of the Volta in front of the entire court. He's a soldier by nature, not a courtier, and though Sir Francis insisted the team took extensive lessons in all the courtly graces so they fitted into this rarefied world, he worries he might give himself away.

Margot echoes his steps, her movement fluid and sensual. It awakens his desire for her, despite the fact she lied to him about her identity. The provocative sway of her waist as she passes in front of him incites him to slide his hands round it and pull her close. He hears her little sigh of desire as she practically grinds herself against his codpiece. He knows how to do this now, though it feels perfectly indecent and forbidden. Use the formality and ritual of the dance to express his feelings; and she by the glint in her blue eyes is prepared to play the game, just as well as he. He lifts her high, and lets her glide down the entire length of his body.

"My lady?"

"Can you forgive me, dear Walt?" she says quietly in his ear as he clasps her close. "Do you understand why I didn't want to tell you who I really was? I wanted to spare you all this, I really did."

"Was all of it a lie?" he asks her.

She kisses him in response, not caring that they are being watched by the entire court. Walt is amazed at her boldness before her mouth lands on his. "Not this-"

He can't help responding to her, it's inevitable. The physical chemistry between them is still there. But Walt remembers afterwards, Ray's hand on his prick. His admission that he'd desired him since the Netherlands expedition. Fucking him in that tavern room, the early morning light filtering through the windows. He feels very confused and more alone than ever.

At the end of the dance Catherine claps very deliberately and gives her daughter a rare small smile. She almost seems to bask in the approval from her mother.

"Margot and the Englishman...How very interesting..." she muses before catching Sir Francis's eye. "Lord Walsingham, could I have a swift word ?"

 

Brad sees the masked man approaching them as they gather for the meeting. 

_Is this who we're waiting for?_ he asks himself. What can he offer that we can't do for ourselves? 

Ever since Walsingham had told him he was one of those pampered indolent courtiers in the bower when they arrived at Fontainebleau, he doubts that he would be up to the job, even though his dispatches had more than spoken for themselves and Walsingham was more than satisfied with his work.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Something came up at the palace and I was required to deal with it."

Brad can't read his eyes hidden behind the mask but Walsingham seems to trust this man and his information. He couldn't be completely incompetent if he had managed to conceal his identity at court for all this time. Perhaps this agent has hidden depths.

He handed Walsingham a large packet of paper. "My dispatches for the week, sir. I hope you find them useful."

"I need to make an introduction. This is Sir Brad Colbert and Sir Walter Hasser. You'll be working with them at the palace. Brad is one of our best agents. We're going to get to the bottom of this poison plot and if he can help you with the de Guise investigation. This is Nate Fick, court favourite, musician and my agent at court. "

The man nods.   
"Why don't you take off your mask?" Brad asks. He knows he sounds antagonistic but he doesn't care . This place unsettles him and the way that a comparative innocent like Walt has been unwittingly dragged into their sordid intrigue disgusts him. Walt's a good loyal man, an excellent soldier and fighter, an honest man. He doesn't deserve to be dragged into some labyrinthine sexual intrigue for the amusement of a ruthless Queen Mother and her spoilt nymphomaniac daughter. Logically he knows this wasn't Nate's fault, he merely works here. _How can he bear to work with this every day? How can he not be stained with their corruption?_

Nate takes off his mask. "You're right, Lord Colbert." he agrees. "We work for the same side; we ought to be able to trust each other."

Brad sees pretty green eyes, a kissable pink rosebud of a mouth curling up into a slight smile. A youthful looking face. He looks barely out of his mid teens, so terribly young to be engaged in Walsingham's dirty work. _No wonder they all adore him here at court. He looks so harmless. Who would ever suspect such an innocent looking lad of spying for Walsingham?_

"Well?"

Brad knows he was staring, and Nate has called him on it. He can't help himself though. 

"Do you feel able to trust me now? Now that you've seen my true face?" He actually has the gall to look amused. "-Or would you like some further credentials?"

"Don't mind him-" interjects Ray. "Brad has trust issues. I doubt if he trusts his own shadow."

"Shut up, Ray." Brad says wearily. If he had a guinea for how many times he had to say that in a week, he would have made a fortune by now.

"What? What did I say now?"

Brad's still staring at Nate. He simply can't help himself."No wonder they call you 'Ganymede'."

He doesn't realise that he's said it out loud until Nate goes a very intriguing shade of pink. 

"There's no need to embarrass the lad, it's just a codename." Ray says, nudging Brad.

"We need to find out more about Catherine de' Medici's motives." Sir Francis interrupts to spare any more of Nate's blushes. "I think she is planning a strike against Coligny. He's a threat on the eve of the wedding and her most vocal Huguenot opponent. He has Henri de Navarre's ear. The prince regards him almost like a father. If anyone is capable of persuading him not to go through with the union, it's him ." 

"What do you think they will do to him?"

Nate muses. "Poison? Assassination? Catherine will want to send a stark message to the Huguenots. She might be giving their prince her daughter but she is by no means giving them any concessions at all. The people won't let her. She and the king made a lot of enemies with this alliance. De Guise can barely hide his disgust and fury."

"Kind of like a back handed compliment. Ah, these people are incredible!" Walsingham remarks. "To give with one hand and take with the other, that must really be a Valois gift."

"Do you think she told her daughter to offer her body on the street? To absolute strangers? Bizarre behaviour for a princess." 

"Margot herself doesn't want to marry Henri at all. She is madly infatuated with de Guise to a reckless degree, or at least that's what the story is. Her brothers hate it, but the more they push against it, the more she clings to him. He's encouraging her in her rebellion against her mother in the hope she will go with him instead and strengthen his political power." Sir Francis says. "Isn't that right, Nate?"

"Another de Guise grab for power. This is all starting to link up, Sir. So where do we fit in?"

"We join court, get people talking and find out what the de Guise game plan is."

"We haven't much time, sir."

"That's why Nate here is going to help you." Sir Francis says with no little complacence. "I have every confidence with my best men on the case co-operating with each other, we should be able to crack the de Guise plot in no time."

He doesn't exactly look very happy about that, but keeps quiet for now.


	8. Instructions from Home

Chapter 8: Instructions from Home  


Sir Francis's quarters, Afternoon

Sir Francis is at his desk opening his latest batch of despatches from home. Brad sits opposite him scanning the letters as Sir Francis passes them to him.

'A letter from Lord Burghley.' He says breaking the seal. 'What can this be about?'

Sir Francis makes a scornful noise under his breath, audibly losing patience with the contents of his missive. "Her Grace sticking her beak in."

'Already? We've barely even settled in.' Brad stretches his long legs under the table, feeling restless.

Sir Francis frowns as he scans the letter again. Whatever it is, it isn't good news.

'Any News from home for the team?' asks Brad, watching his boss's face."What did she wants, sir?"

'Orders from her Majesty. I suppose you'd better read them yourself, Brad.' he pushes the offending over the table for Brad to read for himself.

Brad scans the royal imperious scrawl. He notices the neat clever notes from Lord Burghley in the margins.

'That woman will give me grey hairs, I swear. Have you read this?'

Brad doesn't know how involved he wants to get with this. His boss's clashes with Elizabeth are legendary within the department. 

'Not only is she moaning about the cost of the investigation-'

'But, sir, it hasn't even started yet. How can she be complaining about the cost? She approved the mission with Lord Burghley.'

'Exactly-'

'She's encouraging Alençon in his attentions. Even though I know for a fact there is no way she will ever actually marry him if she's got any sense? So you must excuse me if I'm exasperated when she writes and I quote: 'We must not antagonise my future family in law.'

"Does she really want to marry into this family?"

Sir Francis sighs. "Who knows what the woman wants, Brad? She is perfectly capable of changing her mind five times in one day if it suits her."

* * *

Walsingham closes the door and indicates for Walt to sit. 

"Sir Walt, we must talk. Confidentially, of course." He sees a momentary flinch, but Walt is good at his job and doesn't give things away easily, like a good recon operative should.

"Sir?"

"You really have a made an impression at court here. Come to the notice of quite a few important people. You've done very well, Sir Walt. Well done." 

"Important people?" Walt pricks up his ears.

"The king, his redoubtable mother and Princess Margot all seem to adore you."

Right now, Walt doesn't know whether this is a good or bad thing.

"I think you should encourage this flirtation, this thing you have with Margot. It would be good for the team, for the moment. The perfect way in ."

Walt hadn't expected this from his boss, not at all. "Sir Francis?"

"She seems to like you very much." He muses. "There's great chemistry there. "What I find intriguing is that you engaged her emotions as well as her body. I say you capitalise on this, and encourage her attentions. That night where you danced the Volta together. Sheer physical dynamite. It was good between you, wasn't it? That night in the tavern? You swived her most thoroughly?"

Walt blushes. 

"Lord Hasser?" Walsingham prompts.

"Yes, it was good." he mutters, utterly mortified.

"Considering her youth, she's quite experienced in the bedroom by all accounts. I don't want her to get bored after a couple of weeks of sleeping with you. I suggest that you study these fine volumes, cover to cover-". He hands Walt a couple of leather bound books, and as he leafs through one, the flush deepens on his face.

"Sir!"

"Is there a problem, Sir Walt?" Sir Francis enquires with a raised eyebrow.

"Aretino, Sir? Really?"

"I don't want her to get bored." He insists.

"Are you going to be testing me, my Lord Walsingham?"

For a moment, Walt believes Sir Francis is actually considering it."I don't doubt your own amorous skills, but it's vitally important she doesn't get bored and drift back to de Guise, at least until the wedding. We've got to break his hold over her, and you are the key."

"But, sir-"

"At least until the wedding takes place. Divert her away from de Guise. Queen Catherine thinks it's a marvellous idea and so does the King." He cracks a grim smile. "In fact, it was they who suggested this plot to me."

Walt definitely doesn't like the sound of this. Catherine de' Medici gives him the creeps. Those dark hooded eyes staring at a man, as if trying to probe his secrets.

Walsingham frowns at him. "I sense a certain amount of reluctance on your part, Sir Walt."

"I don't like the idea of it, to be honest, Sir." he admits, meeting his superior's eyes with his usual frankness.

Sir Francis remains steely-eyed. "I want you to put aside your personal inclinations, and I want you to take one for the team, Lord Hasser. You woo the lady, keep her occupied and satisfied in bed and away from de Guise. Do you understand me?"

Meeting his eyes, Walt knows this is a battle he cannot win. Sir Francis Walsingham is a ruthless man. He is perfectly capable of sacrificing anyone, even a member of his team for 'the greater good'.

"Yes, Sir." He says reluctantly.

* * *

'We meet with Henri de Navarre and his retinue in the evening. Needless to say, we must gain his trust so the negotiations go as smoothly as possible. He knows we have been working on his behalf, so-'

'What's the prince like?' asks Brad.

Walsingham considers the question. 'He's a decent man. Young for a prince, but with the potential to be a great man one day-'

Walt looks down quietly, aghast at having to befriend a man when he has already slept with his wife-to-be. Every time he thinks of their frantic coupling in the tavern that night, he flushes in a mixture of shame and lust.

'If he lives that long?' Brad suggests with a wry curve of his mouth. Nothing would surprise him about this court any more.

Sir Francis acknowledges his quip. 'It's true to say he is somewhat ill-equipped to thrive in an environment like this. He needs guidance, which we will provide.'

'What about his retinue? He isn't coming alone, is he?' Walt asks.

'No.' Sir Francis says. 'I almost wish he were-'

'You anticipate trouble, Sir?' Brad says calmly.

'Gaspard de Coligny is a great influence on the young king and I'm sure it's no secret that he strongly disapproves of the union. If anyone could dissuade Henri from the match, it's him. We will have to make our case to him. Then there's Armagnac and the Prince de Condé, ardent Protestants both of them. The thought of getting into bed politically with the likes of De Guise and Catherine de' Medici will be utter anathema. They will do everything possible to disrupt the wedding and make sure Henri never marries Margot.'

'Nobody wants this wedding, not even the bride. Why are they so intent on it?' Ray observes.

Walsingham's thin mouth quirks rather cynically. 'Catherine wants peace after the civil wars. She will pay any price to achieve it. This is why when we first arrived I wanted to know whether she knew that Margot was seeking lovers in the city at night. Was she intending to give Henri de Navarre a rotten bargain? In some respects I almost pity the princess in that regard. It seems to be the only method of defiance she has.' He turns to Brad. 'I know you do not approve of her and her antics-'

'I have no opinion, sir.' replies Brad. 'She is a Princess of the Blood. What does my opinion of the lady matter?'

Walsingham looks at the set of Brad's chin. He knows his team leader doesn't approve of Catherine's stratagem to distract Margot by encouraging Walt to be her lover for a while.

'Lord Colbert-' he chides. 

Brad says nothing, but the thin line of his mouth says more than any rant could.

-0-

'You wished to see me, Lord Walsingham?' he asks, polite as ever as he leans in the doorway. Sir Francis can feel the froideur from where he sits.

'I am concerned you are letting your negative opinions of the court and its players colour your response to it. Come sit, Brad. Let's talk.'

He's stung by his boss's subtle rebuke. 'I am always professional whilst on assignment, Sir Francis. I fail to see why whatever opinion I may hold –'

'-your professionalism is not under question here, Lord Colbert!'

Brad just looks at him stonily.

'Brad, don't be angry at me. I would be pleased to hear your concerns regarding the case. Indeed, you may be surprised to hear that I personally share a lot of your misgivings. But you are the head of my team and I need you supporting me, not resisting me at every turn. I know you don't approve about Walt and Margot. To be honest, I don't either. But you cannot deny it has helped us. '

Brad nods begrudgingly.

''Tis only a temporary move until she marries Henri. Just so she doesn't fall any further under de Guise's spell. Need I remind you that a powerful de Guise is something we must avoid at all costs? If he decides that he has all the aces in his hands, he will probably try to launch another attack on our mistress. It is in our interests that the de Guise fortunes wane and I think we are seeing signs of this. Ah well, I forget you are a soldier at heart. You have little taste for this kind of cloak and dagger politics, do you?'

Sir Francis steeples his hands in front of him. "Talk to me, Sir Brad. Man to Man. What concerns do you have about the case and how can I alleviate them as your master?"

Brad doesn't know how much good it will do, but he has to try.'I personally don't trust these people, any of them. I fear we as a team will get enmeshed in their intrigues and lose our focus which should be finding the conspirators. Proving the de Guise connection beyond all reasonable doubt.'

'You don't really like this court, do you?'

'Not at all.' Brad says shortly. 'I don't like courts in general, and this one least of all.'

'You wouldn't stain them all with the same brush, would you?' Sir Francis asks. 'You don't believe there can be one honourable man in Gomorrah, like Lot ?'

'In all honesty, I don't see how you could stay in this place and fail to be affected by its corrupting influence.'

'Even Nate?' Walsingham observes, keenly as ever. 'Do you not trust him either?'

To be truthful, Brad isn't exactly sure how he feels about Nate. Sure, he has a grudging respect for the intelligence he provides on the court and the ability he's shown so far in evading the slightest hint of detection. The other feelings he has; well he's not sure at the moment whether he's willing to face that quite yet.

'How do you know you can trust him? You were so confident he is your man through and through. You say he has lived here at this court since boyhood and managed to attain the position of court favourite. How do you know he will not betray us?'

'That's what concerns you.' He muses. 'Well, as far as Master Fick's loyalty to us, that is between him and myself. Suffice to say, I have as much confidence in his loyalty to me as I have in yours. I have never once had cause to doubt you.'

* * *

The party from Navarre greet Sir Francis and his team with a barely concealed wariness. Condé and Armagnac hang back from the others; muttering darkly about sold-out principles and foreign interference. 

Henri on the other hand is an awkward, yet well-meaning young man plainly dressed but with a face of such infectious good humour one can't help but like him. He greets Sir Francis, familiarly shaking his hand. He turns to the rest of the team.

'Welcome. I have heard many great things about you. I am so glad you are willing to work on my behalf.'

Brad cannot help an ironic look at the two sulking aristocrats in the corner.

'Oh never mind them.' Henri says lightly. 'They're just angry I find myself obliged to marry a Catholic Princess. I fancy they feel themselves personally slighted by such a thing.'

'Will they cause trouble?' Sir Francis asks, brows drawn together shrewdly. 

Henri gives a typically Gallic shrug. 'I don't know. They'd be fools to oppose Catherine and Charles so openly on their home ground, but then they are so much radical and extreme Huguenots than I. 'Live and let live' is a far more sensible doctrine. At least for someone who wants to keep his hide in one piece!'

Brad remembers the rumours about Jeanne d'Albret and her death by Poison. He understands Henri and his motto of tolerance far better.

'Come, we will dine and talk further my lords. I am eager to hear the news from abroad and from court. I understand you have all settled in there.

'I realize you're Lord Hasser. I've heard many stories of your valour. The word is you've been fighting the good fight in the Netherlands. Coligny spoke with great admiration of your team's exploits.' 

Walt feels his face flaring up. He looks down, unwilling to meet Henri's eyes.

Brad prods him. 'Act natural, for the love of God! He's going to get suspicious if you keep acting like a guilty maiden.'

'I'm fucking his wife-to-be, in case you've forgotten.' He hisses back. 'How can I make friends with a man when I am cuckolding him behind his back every single night? What if he finds out? Someone's bound to talk. We'll be screwed.'

The last thing Brad needs right now is for Walt to lose his composure due to guilt. It's by no means an ideal situation, but they're just going to have to make the best of it.

'No, I haven't forgotten but you'll have to make the best of it. For now.'

* * *

Walt is having a bad day. If one more person comes up to him asking inappropriate questions about his and Margot's love life, or giving unwanted advice he thinks he'll scream .

"She keeping you up at night, is she, Lord Hasser? She's an insatiable little minx that one." Henri, Chevalier d'Angôuleme remarks while they pass the time playing quoits outside.

"Is it true she had you and another member of your team that night? At the same time? Dirty wench!" Louis Du Guast laughs with another swig of wine .

"Why doesn't that surprise me in the slightest?"

"I wouldn't have said 'No', look at her." Du Guast looks round to see that none of her brothers are in the offing. "That is one desirable little poulet right there-"

"Despite the fact she won't have you!" Vielleville mocks him with an affectionate cuff to the head.

He's unperturbed by his friend's scorn. "Matter of time, m'dear."

"If you haven't managed it by now, Du Guast-"

"I wouldn't say it in front of Nate. You know how he gets about his mistress." They chuckle almost sympathetically.

"What man wants to hear that-" Angoulême muses.

"Shush!" Du Guast gives him a scandalised nudge and Angoulême shuts up.

Walt briefly wonders why his new acquaintance shut down that avenue of enquiry, but he has plenty of time to find out.

"What did I say?"

"Lord Hasser, are you listening to us?" 

"Off in a dream world, no doubt." Vielleville says with another ribald laugh. "Poor cunt-struck bastard!"

 

He's uptight, and she's bound to notice his head's not in the game. There's no way he can be convincing enough to fool the court. Sir Francis hovers near them. Probably waiting for a status update so he can inform Queen Catherine of the success of their plot.

 _How the hell did I get involved in all this?_ He thinks to himself wearily. _I'm a soldier. A man of the land; a yeoman at home, loving nothing better than the crops growing in the fields. The good honest work of bringing in the harvest. I'm not cut out for the thrust and dazzle of court. This is an entirely different world, full of snares and traps I can't even see._

He sighs as he walks across the courtyard, the gravel crunching under his dark tan leather boots.

"Lord Hasser?" 

Walt turns, his shoulders sagging with relief as he realises it's only Nate. He wonder whether he should confide in him since they are alone right now.

"You seem troubled, Lord Hasser. D'ye want to talk?"

Walt sighs. "I don't know where to start, Nate. I really don't."

"Can I ask you a question?" Nate asks with a bluntness that surprises him.

"Ask away, Nate."

Nate squares his shoulders. "Do you actually like Margot? For herself? You care for her?"  
With a sting of annoyance Walt wonders what business it is of Nate's. He remembers that day in the garden, that blank insolent gaze on the back of the neck. Perhaps he's just a concerned friend, trying to look out for his mistress. Or maybe, just maybe something else, something way more complicated is going on underneath the surface.

"Yes, I do."

"You wouldn't hurt her?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? I wouldn't hurt her. Of course not! I'm not a beast. She's perfectly safe with me. I care for her as a friend even though she'd drive a saint to drink."

"You sleep with her." There's an edge to Nate's voice which Walt wonders at. If he didn't know better he would say it was resentment or jealousy. "You let her kiss you in public, during the Volta."

 _Surely not? Surely Nate isn't jealous of his relationship with the princess?_ Even as he thinks it, he remembers the two of them in the garden, her at his feet harmonising together. The lyrics of their shared song, something about forbidden courtly love. Her head resting on his knee. _Has he stumbled into something beyond his understanding?_

"Look, it isn't love. We both know what this is. Sex, and the queen mother's desire to deflect de Guise." Walt says honestly. "I don't know what your relationship with her is, but I assure I am no threat."

The tension seems to leak out of Nate.

"You may be surprised, but I know exactly how you feel." Nate says, sounding a bit more mollified by Walt's frankness.

"You do?"

"Oh yes, believe me, I do."

"Why does she have to know every secret of her daughter's life? When did my private life become public currency? I just don't want to get trapped in the coils of this place."

Nate gives hims sympathetic look as if he has realised that Walt has no idea of the way court works. How can he hope to play the courtly game when he does not even know the rules? "She's always been like that, ever since I can remember. She hides in corners, spying on all and sundry. I remember once, I was with a –" Nate looks down, slightly embarrassed. 

"With a what?" Walt is genuinely curious about this.

Nate's blush deepens. "With a lover. She made it perfectly clear she was spying on us and she wouldn't allow the relationship to continue unless she knew all about every thing we did. Every kiss, every innocent word of love reported and distorted by her. And it poisoned everything-" he finishes, his voice trailing away.

"Why?"

"It's all about power." Nate says simply. "Having knowledge over a person, so she can wield it over you like a weapon. You just have to live with it. But you... you don't have to do this. You don't have to let them manipulate you like this."

"You think?" Walt retorts with a flash of cynicism which doesn't suit him. "Do you think I'd agree to any of this if Sir Francis hadn't left me orders to woo her?"

"You don't have to let them manipulate you like this. Walt, you are free to do as you please-"

"And you are not?"

Nate looks down, lashes shadowing his cheeks in a dark gold fan. Walt understands all too clearly. Sir Francis has his fingerprints all over this too.

"I don't know how you can."

"No one ever said I had to like it." Nate replies. Walt fancies he hears a bitter cynical edge to his voice. "If you thought too deeply about it, it would make you angry. I can't do my job in those circumstances, which is gather information for Sir Francis and his mistress. So I must endure the trials of this court as best I can."

"How can you be so detached about it? So involved with them and yet separate?" Walt marvels.

"It's part of my role. I tell myself that every day."

Walt can't help wondering how long Nate can keep up the façade. He's only human, after all.

* * *

Brad is pleased to see Signor Reyes at last. For all his eccentricities his instincts are spot on and perhaps his clear eyes are just what the team needs to focus.

"Lord Colbert-" Rudy greets him with a flourish as he embarks off the boat. Brad smiles to see that Pappy has managed to take the time off to join him. Two of the most levelheaded members of the team at his back. Perhaps this assignment isn't going completely down the gutter.

"Rudy, Shawn-"

"We got the message to come out here, so we dropped everything." Rudy says earnestly.

"We'll talk further once we get back to Sir Henry Norreys's house."

"What is this all about? Lord Burghley was very sparing with the details." Pappy asks.

"We're on the trail of a plot, so we must needs spend our time at court mining out secrets. We are to be courtiers here." By the dry irony in Brad's voice they look at each other, able to tell right away that this assignment is far less to Brad's taste than some good honest spying or breaking and entering.

 

The group sit at the table eating and catching up on news. Once Sir Francis has read the dispatches Rudy had brought with him, he leans back and steeples his hands in front of him. 

"I suppose you're wondering why I called you out here, Signor Reyes." he starts pleasantly.

"I don't question orders. I just assumed that you required our help, so here we are at your service."

"We're currently attending the court of the Valois while I am officially negotiating a royal treaty. Lord Colbert here has a different mission. I want you to assist him, while keeping the men on their toes. I don't want losing them their physical edge while out here."

"Certainly, Sir."

* * *

The Palace Gardens, later afternoon

Anjou pulls off his jacket and unsheathes his sword in the late afternoon sun. The light gleams off the polished steel. "I'll try a bout with Guy. That will take the edge of things." His eyes settle on Brad, who gives him a frosty stare back. "I must say if you managed to beat Monsieur de Nançay in a fair fight, you must have no mean amount of skill. He's one of our best."

There's something going on between them, Brad realises with a short sharp shock. Anjou is flirting with him right under our noses. _So why was Nançay so keen to visit us at Sir Henry Norreys's house? Why was he so keen to bury the hatchet and co-operate with them despite the duel? Are the team already under suspicion?_

Sir Francis nudges Brad and Rudy who observe the match with a keen eye. "Let's see how good he is."  
"Or is he all mouth and no breeches?"

Rudy watches the match, taking mental notes as the two fighters thrust and parry across the bois. They're evenly matched, Guy's brute strength and persistence against the Prince's practiced elegant moves. Anjou has a grace and supple strength that belies his languid foppish manner. It would be hard to credit that this is the same languid lazy young man perched at his mother's side like an indulged pedigree kitten.

"We underestimate him at our peril." Brad notes. "None of these royals are as they seem, are they Lord Walsingham?"

Watching him in combat he can well believe the tales of his victories in the civil wars.

Rudy's still watching the fighters keenly. Right now his attention is on Nançay . 

"Persistence of a mastiff, but he definitely favours his left side. I wonder whether it might be an injury. Worth finding out, wouldn't it?"

* * *

Brad is instantly alert as they approach Walt's quarters. He keeps his hand close to his concealed poignard, ready to strike if necessary.

'There's someone in your room waiting for you.' He says quietly to the team. 'I'm going to check it out.'

He notices the door is open by just a crack and the light from the fire is leaking out. He can hear a female voice humming softly, some bawdy little Parisian voix de ville off the streets. He slips into the room, ready for combat or confrontation.

He's rather surprised by who he finds languidly reclined on the bed reading a leather bound volume and making notes in the margin.

'My Lady Margot.'

She looks up at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Brad can see why Walt finds her a bit of a handful. Irresistible, provoking, gorgeous, but a definite handful.

'Lord Colbert, I wasn't expecting Walt to have company.' She clutches the book to her body which is naked. The volume in no way covers her charms.

'Walt, you have company-' Brad says, deadpan as usual.

'Company? I'm not expecting anyone-' Walt comes to the door and stops abruptly at the sight of Margot sprawled invitingly on his bed.

'What are you doing here, My Lady?'

She gives him a beguiling smirk as the others come into the room.

'Hi, Ray!' she smiles, giving him a cheery wave. He bounds over and gives her an affectionate peck on the cheek. Walt can't help feeling a bit cross at that, in all honesty.

_I'm not being unreasonable about this. What the hell is she doing here? And how did she get into the room? The door was locked!_

Trombley's eyes look like they are about to fall out of his head, he's staring at her body so much.

'You don't mind Walt, do you?' she says in a voice of sheer honey. '-it's just that everyone's off hunting, and I didn't know when we'd get another chance-' she gives him a sultry look from underneath her lashes.

'What have you got yourself involved in, Walt?' Brad mutters. He notices how she and Nate barely acknowledge each other, considering how good friends they are, to all accounts. He catches a look at his face. Nate looks almost disappointed in her.

'What are you reading, Margot?' Walt asks trying to keep his temper in the face of her provocation. Even though she is being a minx right in front of his friends, he still wants her. _This is altogether too complicated for me,_ he thinks.

'Your copy of Aretino's _I Modi_ , darling.'

Trombley is amazed. 'Aretino?'

'-You know if you wanted to read my edition of Aretino, you should have just said. My copy has far better illustrations. Why, you can barely see the positions in this one.'

Trombley makes a sound as if he's about to choke.

Margot doesn't seem to notice. 'I did like the comments in the margins. Shows a book well loved and in use. Although I felt some of them lacked a woman's perspective.'

'Comments?' Walt hadn't noticed any comments when he'd flicked briefly through the book when he'd received it from Sir Francis. He'd been too occupied by the explicitness of the engravings, which frankly was bad enough.

'Give me that!' he says crossly, reaching for the book.

'Don't lose my page!' she protests. 'I don't know what's got into you, but I imagined you'd be pleased to see me.'

Walt looks down and groans. 'I'm going to bloody kill him. And her. Both of them-' he mutters.

Ray has obviously got hold of the book behind his back and gifted him with some choice comments in the margins. These are as lewd as Walt would imagine them to be, maybe even worse. Walt notices her comments written in a clear flowing script are in English. It takes him a couple of seconds to register that she is perfectly capable of understanding their native talk. _How could they have been so complacent? Catherine was bound to be suspicious of their arrival at court, but would she have set her daughter on them to infiltrate the group and spy on them?_

He needs to talk to Brad, discuss just how dangerous this girl truly is. He knows now he has to break it off. Who knows what havoc she might cause for sheer sport? Walt shudders at having to return the book to Sir Francis. I'm not annoyed he tells himself, knowing it to be a lie.

He goes to get a robe to cover herself, irritated that they are all staring at her naked body, and she is totally unself-conscious, not attempting to cover up.

'Wear that.' He says tersely, throwing her a robe. She wraps the thin green silk round herself.

'Walt? You're not angry at me?' She asks.

'No.'

'You are, aren't you?'

'We're not going to talk about this now.' Walt says, managing by some feat of patience not to snap at her.

'Fine, I'll go, since no one seems to want me here. Perhaps-" Her voice takes on a sarcastic edge. 'I'll consult with Lord Walsingham as to when would be a convenient time to make an assignation with you, Walter?'

'Great, now you've gone and pissed her off.' mutters Ray. "Well done, Walt."

'I'll take you back to your rooms, my lady.' Nate says.

Nate looks down at her breasts, and he would swear that he lets out a gasp. She gives him one of her seductive little looks from underneath her lashes, one to make a man hard in his breeches and he turns away abruptly, exhaling sharply through his nose.

'There's no need, Nate. I think I know my way round the palace?'

'I think there is. Don't you, my lady?' Walt is somewhat surprised at the steel running through his voice. Those green eyes glare at her coldly. Yet Walt can't help but notice his eyes are drawn back to her body and she makes no attempt to shield herself, even casually dropping the thin silk robe to reveal a pearly white shapely shoulder and the upper curve of one rounded pert breast. There's a flash of something strange, almost possessive in his gaze. Like she belongs to him.

The group are even more surprised to see that is Margot who drops her gaze first, her cheeks stained pink with embarrassment.

'Get dressed.' He says, terse as a whiplash, his fist clenched by his side. 'Now, Margot!'  
She pouts, but obeys him without another word.

"What?" Nate still sounds a bit cross, as soon as the princess leaves the room, slamming the door behind her. "Why are you all staring at me like I've just grown another head?"

'How on Earth did you do that?' asks Walt in undisguised amazement, staring at Nate. "She never listens to me, let alone obeys me. What did you do that I couldn't?"

Nate shrugs. 'It seems part of my extensive duties at court is keeping Princess Marguerite out of trouble. For my sins, and my father's-'

'Let's hope that you're better at it than Monsieur de Nançay.' remarks Ray.

 

Brad beckons Ray to him. "Ray, I want you to do something for me. But quietly. Absolute discretion, you understand?"

"What?"

Brad lowers his voice."They haven't quite left yet. They're talking in the hallway, I can hear them." He inclines his head towards the door where Margot and Nate left. "Go and listen closely to their conversation, and report back to me."

"You don't trust him, do you? Despite the fact Sir Francis told us he was our man?"  
It's disconcerting just how on the mark Ray is sometimes.

"I'm just keeping an eye on the situation like any team leader should. Something is going on between the two of them. I want to know what it is."

 

Ray's shaking his head, thinking that much as he'd count Brad as a friend, he has some serious trust problems, when he gets to the door and listens to Margot and Nate's whispered conversation. It's more like a whispered argument, to be honest as the flow of words is almost too fast for Ray to keep up with. Occasionally one of them forgets they are meant to be whispering and raises their voice in anger.

"What is your problem, Nate? Can't any of you take a joke? And you didn't have to be so rude to me in there either."

"What am I meant to think when I come in to find you in Walt's room. Not a stitch on!"

"Why are you angry with me? Are you jealous?"

"No. I'm not!"

She makes a scornful noise. "You could have fooled me."

Ray's surprised. Nate sounds annoyed, even angry. This really does not sound like a mistress and servant relationship. Maybe Brad is actually right. Something is going on between them.

"Nate-"

"Why are you sleeping with Lord Hasser?" he says wearily, obviously trying for patience. "Is the Duc de Guise no longer enough for you?"

"It's just sex, plain and simple. Just scratching an itch. Don't tell me you don't get urges as well. Seeing as you refuse-"

"Enough, My lady." He interrupts.

Ray isn't surprised to hear her express herself like this. He remembers the single minded way she pursued him at the tavern. Making it more than clear she wanted to screw him.

"It's nothing to do with love. He doesn't love me and I don't love him, not in that way, not in the way I've always loved you."

 _Stop!_ Ray thinks, not sure if he heard right. _Loved you? I'm going to take a peek and see what the hell is going on._ He's never heard her speak of love before.

"What do I care for all those other lovers, Nate? When you and I know that my heart belongs to you and always will, no matter who I sleep with."

"How convenient for you, my lady."

"What harm does it do if it keeps mother happy? You know if I was exclusive to you alone, Mother would try and involve you in her sick games. The other men divert her attention."

"You're doing this on her say-so?" Ray can hear the disbelief in his voice as he pulls back from her embrace. "Jesus Christ, Margot, you are impossible! Why not join your mother's esquadron and be done with it?"

"You have no right to be angry with me!" She snaps back, outraged. "How dare you? Do you think this is easy for me as well?"

'No, I don't, do I?' He says bitterly. 'Thank you for reminding me that I have your heart but have no claim on you. You give me your heart but what worth does it have if you bestow your favours on all and sundry-'

She gives a shocked little gasp. "That's unfair, Nate. Take it back!"

He shakes his head and starts to walk away down the corridor.

"Nate? Come back-"

Ray's curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the door a crack to see what is going on.

She seizes his wrist, forcing him to look at her. "I hurt you?"

He doesn't answer.

'Don't be like this. So cold and distant.' She sounds coaxing, but he doesn't seem to be responding so far. 'Nate, I'm sorry, really I am-'

'I must go, my lady, before someone misses me-' Ray fancies he's starting to thaw.

'I know you're disappointed with me. I'm weak and reckless. Don't go yet.'

"Daisy-"

'I'm sorry.' She says, kissing him over and over again, her arms winding round his neck. 'Please forgive me, Nate. I was thoughtless. I didn't think you'd be hurt by my behaviour. I was wrong. Forgive me, my love. Forgive me-'

He can see the moment Nate relents, his hands slipping round her waist to pull her close. Ray just thanks his stars Brad isn't here to see this. He wouldn't be very happy, frankly. He's a bit funny about Nate, and Ray wonders what's at the bottom of it.

'We agreed we wouldn't do this any more. It's too dangerous-' he says in between kisses. 'Daisy, we're playing with fire-'

'I know-' she coaxes, tenderly stroking his hair. '-But I can't help it. No matter how hard I try, I can't give you up. You're an addiction-'

As Margot pulls away, Ray recognises that lascivious sensual smile on her face.  
'Nate-' her voice is a low and sultry whisper. "Show me how much you love me."

'No, we won't. We can't-' He says, trying to convince himself. Observing, Ray isn't convinced he has the strength to walk away, not now. Margot has him exactly where she wants him.

'Please? I just want to show you how sorry I am. How much I want you. I can't bear it when we fight. When we can't be together-'

'You know we mustn't do this, Daisy. If we get caught-'

"If we're quick, no-one will ever know." She retorts. "Just one little caress. Please, Nate-"

He slides the heavy folds of her skirt up her bare legs which fall apart at his touch.

"Yes, that's it. Touch me-" she breathes. She squirms as he slides his hand between her thighs, stroking her in a swift intent rhythm which has her bucking her hips and writhing under his touch. Her head falls back against the stone wall, her eyes fluttering closed until the fringe of her long dark lashes shadows her cheeks. "Oh God, I want you. No one ever makes me feel like you do."

He puts his other hand over her mouth, smothering her sigh. "Daisy. Jesus Christ, I need you-"

Just six simple words but his voice is full of desire and affection for her. From this vantage spot Ray senses the truth of it at once. For all their arguing and fighting he honestly seems to adore her. Whether she really feels the same way is up for debate.

Her hands quickly unhook the front of her gown pulling at the fine chemise until her breasts are exposed Nate bends his head and takes one dark pink nipple into his mouth until she gasps, pressing his head closer. Her fingers sliding through the red gold of his shoulder length hair."Do it Nate, please-" she almost begs, her voice edged with desperation.

"Daisy, I'm serious. We just can't." He at least tries to protest even as his voice is heavy with desire for her.

"Please, you can't just leave me here. Wanting you with no release-"  
She's pinned up against the wall by his body, his leg in between her thighs, grinding and writhing against each other seeking release. Her hands cup his arse pulling him into her body, wanting more of that sweet friction.

"I want you. Inside me. Please...Give me what I crave. Oh Nate-" She gasps. Her cheeks are flushed with pleasure. "Talk dirty to me, you know I need it."

Ray can't make out exactly what he says into her ear, but it appears to be doing the job very well. She tenses and arches under his body, a cry escaping from her parted lips. He covers her mouth with his own, kissing her with renewed passion.

"Don't be cruel, Daisy." He begs. "Please-"

She sinks to her knees and undoes his breeches, almost ripping them in her impatience. He lets out a hiss as her mouth tentatively teases his prick, closing round the head of his shaft. Ray can see by the flush of his face, he's so damned close. The shameful needy sounds spilling from his mouth as she lavishes all her attention on his prick.

Ray doesn't even know what to think anymore as he turns away from their illicit passion. _This isn't just sex for her or him, like with Walt or himself. The two of them are emotionally involved with each other, bound together by some strange sexual alchemy._ He has to at least talk to Nate, hear his side of the story before he tells Brad. _It's only fair._

She presses one last kiss to his jawline."I must go, Nate. Before our luck runs out and we're discovered."

He lets go of her waist almost reluctantly, the amorous spell broken.

"Do you forgive me now?" There's a hint of triumph in her voice as if she already knows the answer, she just likes to hear him say it. To submit to her will.

"Yes-" Nate's voice sounds defeated like he knows he's weakened and failed to stand firm.  
She gives him a sultry look from underneath her lashes. She tilts her face for one last passion filled kiss. "Good. Come to me tonight. Henriette will get you. She'll cover for us all night if I ask her. We can do this properly." She presses his wrist to her mouth leaving a faint mark of carmine on it. "I've missed you, Nate. So much-"

 

Nate leans against the stone wall, eyes closed. He can feel the beginning of a tension headache coming on. He hates fighting with Margot, maddening as she is. Even more, he hates the guilt of succumbing to her wiles as frankly irresistible as he finds her.

_I'm too emotionally involved to deal with this the way I should._

He sees Ray watching him from the doorway and strides over decisively.

'Can we talk? Further down the hallway?'

'Nate?'

'I assume you heard what the princess and I were talking about.' He says dealing with the problem directly as they walk.

'Look, I don't know what your deal with her is.' Ray says hastily, hurrying to match Nate's long loping stride. 'In truth, it's none of my business. You're a grown man, you can make your own decisions. How long has this been going on for? Months?'

Nate shakes his head. 

'Years?' Despite himself, he can't help being amused. 'Jesus Christ, you are in trouble, ain't you?'

'Look, I know I don't have the right to ask you but, please don't say anything to Sir Brad yet.'

'You do realise Brad asked me to listen to your conversation, don't you?'

Nate bites his lip. 'He doesn't trust me, does he?'

He sounds so oddly plaintive that Ray has to agree. 'Not really.'

'It's over, I mean…' he sighs. 'We were just friends now. Nothing is going on.'

'Didn't appear that way to me-'

'-And then I got angry with her, seeing her in Sir Walt's room, deliberately provoking trouble. We ended up arguing and then things got a bit out of control when we were making up. They always do-'

'You seemed to be having quite a fight there. I'm surprised she let you shout at her.'

Nate sighs. 'We are best friends and have been since childhood, but that has a flip side. We both know how to wind each other up terribly. Margot and I have a bit of a fiery relationship. When it's good we're close, but when we fight-'

'Cats and Dogs…I can imagine.'

'I'm not blaming you, Nate. I know what she's like. I slept with her myself. That night I met her. In all honesty, it's my fault Walt's in this position in the first place. If he hadn't followed Margot and I to make sure I wasn't getting into trouble-'

"You know Walt's a good man. He won't hurt her you know." Ray feels impelled to say.  
Nate seems to heave a sigh of relief. "I promise I will tell Lord Colbert everything, when the time is right. But not now."

"What about Sir Francis? Does he know about your relationship and just how far it's gone? Does he know that you love her?"

Nate gives him a rueful smile. He leans close so only Ray can hear him. "Of course he does. Who do you think started all this in the first place?"

As Ray is still trying to process this, Nate disappears down the corridor.

* * *

Brad drops in on Ray while he's working.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

Ray makes a face. "Factchecking. Boring as hell. You can help me if you like."

Brad sits down with a pile of papers, runs a cursory eye over them. "What did you find out about our boy wonder then? What were he and the princess arguing about in the corridor?"

Ray hesitates, and Brad knows surer than ever that something is up. Why on earth would Ray keep a secret for Nate? It just doesn't make sense. Something here just doesn't add up.

"You did manage to hear what they were talking about, didn't you? As I ordered you to?"

"They were fighting about her antics, that's all. He told her exactly what he thought of her. Man, there's another side to the sweet troubadour. I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of that one. Would you believe she actually apologised to **him?** "

Brad knows there's something else that Ray isn't saying. He should know by now, it's impossible to keep things from him. Brad knows him far too well for Ray to deceive him for long.

"You were there for a long time. He must have said something else."

"It was an argument. They tend to get a bit repetitive with time. You know: 'You said this' and 'You said that'; 'How dare you say this?'" he imitates their voices in an almost pitch perfect fashion. Normally Brad would be amused by his vocal dexterity, but he isn't now. "What more do you want to know, Brad?"

 _A lot more,_ thinks Brad darkly.

 

His suspicions whetted by Ray's mysterious cover up, Brad decides to do some fact checking of his own. He wants to know more about Nate, to discover whether the agent has his own secret agenda. 

Brad decides to ply the ladies in waiting for information on Nate. Someone here must know something. He's lived here for years, he's one of them, isn't that what Sir Francis always says?

There's nothing worse than listening to inane feminine gossip, but this is an emergency. He needs to know.

He works out his best bet is Henriette de Nevers and Gillone de Goyon, two ladies in waiting who are not only relatively friendly but incorrigible gossipers. Just give them enough to run their pretty little mouths off. 

Sure enough the fabulously indiscreet Henriette doesn't let him down.

"So you're curious about our lovely troubadour, are you Lord Colbert?" she says with a cheeky gleam.

"I adore him. So talented and sweet-natured, just like his mother." Gillone adds, taking another marchpane sweetmeat from the box. "So easy to talk to, I feel I could tell him anything."

Henriette gives her a disapproving look and snatches the box away."You had to eat all the good ones, didn't you Mlle de Thorigny?"

"I did not!" protests Gillone with a hard-done by pout. "You said you didn't like the almond ones!"

"You'll have to excuse me, I am a foreigner and not familiar with the ins and outs of family ties at court." Brad says, playing dumb for the moment, while guiding them subtly back to the matter at hand. Trying to glean information from them was like herding cats. "You were talking of Nate's mother?"

"Of course, how thoughtless of me! You wouldn't know about Genevieve de Tournelles, would you?"

The name seems familiar as if he'd seen it briefly somewhere on a piece of parchment connected with the mission.

"Nate's mother. Such a lovely down to earth woman. A wonderfully talented musician in her own right. No airs and graces unlike her de Guise kin. It was so terribly sad that she died so young and left him to be brought up at court."

Henriette nods fervently, her fiery curls quivering almost as if they were alive. "Don't get me wrong, I love court and wouldn't be anywhere else but 'tis no place for a child."

Brad is brought up short. That's where he'd seen it. His memory hadn't let him down. The team had carefully studied the de Guise family tree when they first arrived in France, and sure enough she was there; a mere footnote on the page. He privately kicks himself he hadn't delved into it further at time but it's too late for recriminations now."De Guise Kin? Nate is a de Guise?"

"Not strictly speaking. More like a distant poor relation. Henri de Lorraine, Louis de Nevers and Anne-Marie have always been positively horrid to him. Just because Genevieve was only a cousin and married for love instead of furthering the de Guise interests ." Gillone confides. Brad pays attention; she might be young and giddy, but her father is Marechâl de France. Little Gillone here is probably the best connected lady-in–waiting at court. No wonder Nate's plying her for information.

"Well, you know that the de Guise clan are terrible snobs, worse than the Rochechouarts. And I can say that as Louis's wife." Henriette runs on most garrulously. "You know the saying : The Rochechouarts talk only to themselves and God? Well, the de Guise family are even worse. There was a time when they were grander than the Valois themselves."

"And they would have realised their ambitions had François II lived, Father always said-" agreed Gillone, nodding fervently. "The worst turn of fortune it was for the de Guise clan when Charles grew old enough to take the throne and keep it despite the odds."

 _He's one of them? Nate has de Guise blood running through his veins, however diluted. This is crazy. How can they investigate the de Guise family and their intrigues using an agent with family connections?_ Whatever his intentions, there is always going to be a conflict of interests. Sir Francis must know about this. I doubt either he or Ferrando would have let something so important slip.

* * *

Nate sits by the lake feeding the swans. Every so often he will cast a crust onto the calm still waters and watch the birds clamour for food. It isn't making him feel any better, his thoughts revolving incessantly over Margot and Sir Francis's newcomers. To be more exact, running on Brad Colbert.

_I've got to stop this. He doesn't trust me. Maybe he doesn't even like me. It's so hard to tell when he gives nothing away._

"Penny for your thoughts." a familiar voice says right behind him.

He drops his bag of crusts, privately cursing himself for being so clumsy in the presence of Brad.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices Brad sit down next to him and take up the bag.

"You seems troubled, Nate." He says calmly, stretching out those endlessly long legs in front of him. "Anything you want to talk about? Get off your chest?"

"What makes you think I am troubled?" he says noticing how defensive he sounds. 

Brad merely looks amused at how flustered Nate is by his presence. "By the way you're sitting out here by the lake all alone staring out at the swans as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"Maybe I just crave the peace and quiet." He spars back with a good-natured smile.

Brad gives him a charming smile back. "If that was the case you would have made it obvious you wanted to be alone. So far you haven't."

Brad does have a point here.

"I don't blame you, you know. Things are pretty crazy at the palace. And you have to deal with that every day."

"It's not so bad. I have assistance from my deputies. Stafford and Christeson are young but they're learning swiftly. As soon as they're up to speed I'll introduce them to the group ."

"There was something that I wanted to ask you. Something that came up."

"Ask away." Nate asks placidly. "I told you it's important we start to trust each other, Lord Colbert."

"I was just asking round and I was rather intrigued to hear about your family background." Brad's eyes are fixed on him.

Nate doesn't realise he was holding his breath until he feels the exhale. "My mother?"

"Genevieve de Tournelles. I had no idea she was a de Guise by birth."

Nate looks at him sharply. "I have nothing to do with them. Nothing. Is this why you have problems trusting me? You think that my loyalties are going to be divided? That I won't be able to investigate them and bring them to justice as I ought?"

"With all due respect, Nate I never said that."

"You thought it, though. Let me make things perfectly clear to you, Lord Colbert. I owe them nothing. They have done nothing for me. What loyalty should I owe them?"

"You sound bitter, Nate."

"Maybe I am. Maybe you would be too if you'd spent all your life being looked down upon and bullied because of your mother and her links to that illustrious family. It seems that some de Guises are more worthy than others."

"Is that what this is? Rebellion and resentment?" Brad asks. He knows he's pushing Nate's buttons, but something inside him wants to see how far he can.

"Why do you think I do this for Sir Francis and his mistress?" Nate shakes his head. "I see that Sir Francis and Godfather don't tell you everything. How like them to keep their cards close to their chests even with their own men."

"They don't tell me everything?"

"As my father worked for them until his death, so do I. I carry on his work. I shoulder his burden. I do what I have to, in order to survive. So, you should not question my loyalty to the cause. Ever."

Looking at him Brad can tell he's hit a nerve. If there's one thing Nate is serious about is his loyalty to the cause.

"I'm glad we've cleared that misunderstanding up like gentlemen." Nate says crisply.

"No hard feelings?"

Nate's mouth quirks up at the corner. "Of course not. You had your concerns about the team and you had to address them as team leader. I understand I have to earn your trust."

Brad nods to show he understands him.

"Some of the things I and my own team have to do may be questionable, but all is done in Elizabeth's and Lord Walsingham's service."

Brad has to wonder what exactly does Godfather and Lord Francis have Nate doing at court.

"Questionable, Nate?" he says with a raise of one fair eyebrow.

"I am a spy by profession. I don't have the luxury of being a moral man, Lord Colbert."

* * *

Sir Francis and Godfather are in a meeting when Brad reaches them.

"We have to talk, Sirs."

Sir Francis looks up, pleased to see his team leader. "How can I help you, Brad? You seem a tad agitated?"

"We need to discuss Nate Fick and his role in our investigations." Brad says firmly, determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Nate? What's the problem with Nate?" Sir Francis says coolly. "Aren't you satisfied with the quality of his dispatches so far?"

"You know about his family ties? His de Guise blood?"

"Do you take us for fools, Lord Colbert? Of course we know about his birth. Why do you think we chose him as our agent?" Godfather rasps impatiently.

"I have no idea." Brad says tersely. "You tell me, Sir-"

"I think it is about time we took Lord Colbert into our confidence, don't you?" Sir Francis says smoothly. "I can understand why he has trouble trusting our agent if he knows nothing about his circumstances and motives. I'm sure you can keep this in confidence. We have no wish for this to become common knowledge, do we?"

"I can keep a secret."

"Nate works for Sir Francis and myself out of loyalty and obligation. He's worked for us since he was a child. We trained him to be our perfect agent and so far he has not disappointed us in any way."

"Out of 'Obligation'?" he asks with deceptive calmness.

"Nate's father was involved in a plot to kidnap and harm Elizabeth. He saw the error of his ways and gave us information to help us foil the plot. In return for showing him mercy, Sir Francis and I elected to employ him as a spy at court."

_So Nate was right. All this time he'd had to take on his father's burden. Take on his guilt. Had he ever had a chance at a normal life and what effect had living in such a poisonous yet rareified world had on him?_

Brad is not surprised that Lord Ferrando and Sir Francis would act this way. What he is surprised about is that Nate would allow himself to be used by these two ruthless operators. _What have they got on him?_

"We used Nate as he was close to the royal children. He has that close bond with the princess and her loyalty to him has been invaluable. And I have to say, he has an innate talent for this kind of work. He's clever, charming enough to elicit information from targets almost without them realising what he's up to. Intelligent enough to understand the nuances and implications of what he gives us. And of course it helps that he appears so alluring, so deceptively innocent and virtuous that no one would ever suspect him of spying for us."

"You look disapproving, Lord Colbert?" Godfather says sharply. "Surely you do not question our methods? Especially when they have given us an undeniable edge?"

Brad cannot believe the depth of his ruthlessness. _Has he no human feeling for Nate at all? Or is he just a means to an end?_

"Nate was a child when you got to him. Do you really think that guilt and obligation are enough to keep him on the team?"

When Godfather smiles complacently, Brad fights an urge to shake him. "You know that Jesuit saying : 'Give me a man until the age of six and you will have him for a lifetime?' I'll say this for the miliatis ecclesiae, they know human nature better than any of our opponents. Can you blame me for seeing an opportunity to use their own methods against them?"

Brad is disgusted. "You're using Nate as an experiment?"

"Nate is perfect for my strategy by birth and by nature. Yes, he is a Guise by birth. That gives him a entry however slight into this court. And yet they have done nothing for him."

Sir Francis joins in. "All his life they looked down on him. Bullied him for his abilities and royal patronage. What loyalty does he owe them?"

"Nate is a human being, not an automaton!"

"Why do you care, Lord Colbert?" Godfather says icily. "You don't even trust him, you never did."

"You cannot force him to work for us through obligation. My team rely on his information and analysis. If he has another agenda, then we need to know!"

"Who cares why he spies for us as long as he delivers the goods consistently?" The blunt callousness in Godfather's voice is infuriating. He at least cares nothing for Nate. "Nate is reliable and intelligent. He knows the score. He is no innocent."

 

"How can you stand aside and accept this, Sir Francis?" Brad asks as soon as Godfather leaves. 

"He isn't treated badly, Lord Colbert. He lives at court, which is all he knows. I treat him like my own son. I and Ursula at least care about his welfare." 

"Does Lord Ferrando?" Brad asks brusquely, "-care about Nate's welfare?"

Sir Francis has the grace to look embarrassed by his probing. Perhaps he knows full well that Lord Ferrando cares only for himself. "Brad, you know Lord Ferrando is a driven man. He wants results, and Nate delivers. We have trained him well. He is the best agent we have."

"So you keep saying-"

"We've never had an inside man so close to the throne. Do you understand what a coup this is for the team? He was brought up with the royal children. He's known them from the schoolroom, even before that in all truth. This is a close knit community. Bloodlines and birth are everything here. Nate has infiltrated the inner sanctum. His patronage of us will help us be accepted at court. Do you know how Catherine thinks of this young man?

"The Queen Mother?" For some reason Brad doesn't like the thought of Catherine de' Medici anywhere near Nate.

She told his father when she made him ward of Court she thinks of him as one of her own. He is the envy of every noble in France."

Brad has to accept Sir Francis's explanations, though he doesn't have to like them.

 

Brad and Stafford are on their way to meet with Sir Francis and Nate.  
"What's Nate like to work for? He told me he was training you and Christeson as his deputies."

Stafford gives him a shrewd look. Brad wonders if he already knows about his interest in the agent.

"He's a decent man, even though he has to involve himself in the deceptions of court. Me and Christeson couldn't ask for a better boss. He looks after us-"

Brad is interested in this. Nate seems to have the gift of inspiring loyalty in others. Perhaps it's his integrity which inspires people to co-operate with him. He can see how that would work with courtiers like Nançay and Gillone. 

_But how does that square with his illicit relationship with the princess? How can Nate live a lie so readily?_

 

Amboise, 1557

Seamus opens his eyes and lifts his head from the board. It's stained with the remains of the wine and brandy he'd drunk last night. At least, he thinks it's last night. Since Jenny's illness has got worse and he started to drink to forget the pain, most of the days have blended into one intoxicated haze.

He sees his son looking at him from the doorway. Despite his youth, there's an indescribable look in those enigmatic green eyes so like Jenny's it hurts him afresh to look at the boy. Seamus feels a stab of guilt that his son should see him in this state. He's still so drunk he knows it's impossible to stand.

"Papa?" Nate asks, coming towards him in all innocence."What's wrong? Are you ill?"

"Go back! Leave me!"

Nate's little face is hurt at his father's unaccustomed harshness. He flees, closing the door with a slam.

 

Sorcha stands at the bottom of the stairs. He can tell by the severe look on her face that she heard everything, and she definitely didn't approve.

"Why the devil are ye shouting?" she says crossly. "You lock yourself in your room for days on end, and when you do come out, you're hollering and bellowing like the savage you are."

"Nothing." He says tersely. "Leave me be."

Sorcha will not pander to his weakness. "Why are you shouting at Nate? What has he done to you? We've all been tip-toeing round you for weeks."

Seamus already feels guilty he took his bad mood out on his son. He shouldn't have shouted at him. The lad was probably worried about him. 

"Well, Seamus?" she walks up to him, her snub freckled nose wrinkling in disgust. She prods him with one long slim finger stained with ink. "You are as drunk as a sow, Seamus Fick. Deny it if you can!"

"Well, right now what you need to do is go up there and apologise to your son. Right now."

Even in his inebriated state Seamus knows better than to cross his sister. Sorcha's temper is as fiery as her red gold hair and is legendary within the family when crossed.

 

"Nate?"

There's no answer as Seamus knocks on his son's door.

"Nate, please open the door."

"No." He hears his son say stubbornly.

 _What have I done?_ Seamus tells himself. Normally Nate loves and adores his father. _Has he made a terrible mistake and made his son afraid of him? If only I could turn back time, and take back my cross words._

"I won't push you, my son. I just wanted to say-" 

_To say what? To say, I'm sorry I'm a lousy father who gets drunk instead of dealing with his problems? I'm sorry I took my anger and frustration out on you, when you are struggling as much as I am with the loss of Jenny?_

"I wanted to say...Well, I'm sorry." 

 

The door stays firmly closed. Seamus tries the lock. Nate has locked himself in.

 

"Well, did you apologise?" Sorcha asks as soon as he gets back downstairs.

Seamus feels weighed in the balance and being found wanting."I tried. Nate locked his door against me. He never does that."

"I'm not surprised." She says rather snippily. Seamus can tell she's dying to put the boot in.

"I know that you are struggling with Jenny's illness. We all are, Seamus. But you have a young son. A little boy who needs you badly, no matter what is happening. Please don't push him away when he needs you more than ever."

"What kind of a father can I be to him now? When everything is falling apart?" Seamus says helplessly.

"You're not even prepared to try? You'd rather drown your sorrows and spend your nights with disreputable men? Then maybe you're not the man I believed you were."

There's no arguing with Sorcha, especially when she directs her forensic logic on him. He feels like a salmon on the end of a hook, being pitilessly examined in the morning light.

"Of course I love the boy. I always will. He's my son."

"Well then start acting like it then. I know you're hurting Seamus, but it's time for you to stop moping over things you cannot change. If Jenny can accept her fate, why can't you? Be a man for your son. That lost boy who just wants your love."

"Thank you, Sorcha." he says briefly.

"What ever for?"

Seamus cracks the ghost of a smile for the first time in what seems like forever."For being tough on me, and busting my stones when I need it."

"Any time, brother."

 

Sorcha blames herself for not noticing how badly Seamus was coping with Jenny's illness. She knows that in times of stress, she retreats to what she knows and loves: her books. Seamus has always relied upon her and Jenny to keep him on a even keel. He's intelligent but sometimes without a firm sensible hand on the tiller, he drifts into self-destructive behaviour, falling in with the wrong crowd. 

She decides to wait until after dinner when she's put Nate to bed to tackle her brother. To start keeping an eye on him more. I owe it to him. To Jenny.

She waits until he's left the house and withdraws a hairpin from her bun. Alright, she has a twinge of conscience breaking and entering into his room , but needs must. I'm concerned about him. Last night she happened to be hovering in her new drive to pay attention to him and she noticed his drinking buddies talking in low conspiratorial voices. Her sharp ears were able to catch only snippets, but what she heard was more than enough to alarm her.

_Plots? Arquebuses? Armed men breaking into palaces? Whatever Seamus has managed to get involved in now, he has to be stopped. Nate needs his father around and if he's messing round with dangerous men like this, it's very possible he won't be._

The pin turns in the lock and Sorcha lets herself in. She can't help tutting at the dust that has built up in his study. She's not the houseproud type, but how anyone can bear to work in a room like this defies belief.

She looks over his desk, and her sharp eye is caught by a paper in English. Almost despite herself, she picks it up and starts to read.

"Oh Seamus, you great big eejit." She heaves a great sigh. _It was exactly as she had suspected. He's only gone and got himself in a plot to kidnap Elizabeth! To try and snatch her while she goes hunting and demand a ransom. What crazy harebrained idiots would think this was a good idea?_

She has to speak to him and as soon as possible. He cannot be allowed to go through with it.

 

When Seamus gets in that night, Sorcha draws him aside. "May I talk to you?"

"Of course, what is it, Sorcha?" he says removing his cloak with a flourish. 

"Not in front of Nate!" she hisses.

He shrugs and takes her out into the garden.

 

"What's this all about?" Seamus asks as soon as they get outside.  
Sorcha is practically trembling with anger. He sees the signs and realises that when she explodes this is going to be epic.

"How could you be so godamned irresponsible, Seamus?" she hisses.

His face falls as he realises that somehow she's found out. Keeping a secret from Sorcha is impossible. She's far too nosy frankly not to let things lie.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Her eyes flash with rage as she pokes him fiercely in the chest. "Don't give me that tripe, Seamus Fick. D'ye think I was born yesterday?"

"We talked about how you need to be there for your family. How you were struggling to cope with Jenny's troubles. And if I thought that you were stupid enough to endanger all that by running round with a bunch of reprobates planning –"

"Keep your voice down!" he says, grabbing her arm.

"Tell me you aren't that stupid, brother! That you've at least thought about this?"  
Seamus looks down. Sorcha looks at him and realises that he's lost. Out of his depth. 

"How on earth did you get involved, Seamus. A person like that-" she's careful not to name names for fear someone may overhear them talking. "-Is bound to have security. It's not worth the risk, and you've never been a fanatic. What's brought this on?"

"They were kind to me. They listened while I drowned my sorrows. I started to believe that they wanted to be my friends. When they started to tell me about their scheme, it troubled me to hear their plots but I was too deep in their plans to decently withdraw."

"They are serious about their plot? This isn't just idle chat?" Sorcha asks.

"They've invested funds in the enterprise, so yes, I would say they were, Sorcha."

She's frightened by what he's just told her about the plot, grey eyes wide with revelation but one thing that Sorcha Fick is, is brave.

"There's only one thing that you can do. You must go to the authorities and tell them what you know. Perhaps if they see you have repented of your folly, it may be enough to save us all."

"Us all?"

She sighs in exasperation. How can he not have thought of the consequences?

"Think, Seamus! If you were caught by the authorities, do you think they would stop at wrecking their vengeance on you? They would harm you, me, even Nate. Would they even spare Jenny, as ill as she is?"

"No! Not my son!"

"You need to make things right." Sorcha insists. "Go and report this to the authorities. What allegiance do you owe these conspirators? When their actions endanger the throne, and those you love? Do the right thing, Seamus."

 

Seamus has never been so terrified as when he made the appointment to see Sir Francis Walsingham. His reputation as Elizabeth's close councillors and head of national security make him a formidable man to butt heads with. _Who knows how the lord will react? Perhaps he'll throw me in prison as soon as I reveal my guilt._ He knows that Sorcha was right.  
There's no way he could ever be involved with this plot against Elizabeth. He was a fool to get implicated with them.

Sir Francis sits behind his desk, a stern yet impassive look on that foxily inquisitive face. He is joined by a distinguished man in his middle age, with silvering dark hair and penetrating blue eyes , like pitiless rays piercing into his soul. He leans on the desk, arrogance written in his stance.

"How may I help you?" Sir Francis asks politely, shuffling his papers."'Tis Seamus Fick of Ballykirlan, is it not?"

Seamus gulps but stiffens his spine. He has to do this. For Sorcha, for poor Jenny, and for his beloved son Nate. His sister was right as usual. He needs their mercy.

"I come to you with information about a plot on her Majesty's life, Sirs."

Seamus looks at Sir Francis Walsingham, but the canny bastard is giving nothing away as he regards the guilty man in front of him. There's nothing he can do. He's made the gamble to tell them the truth about the conspiracy, now it's up to them.

"You may have wondered why I have summoned you back here." Walsingham remarks, with a cordial smile on his face. Seamus doesn't know quite how to take this. He fidgets under their gaze.

Seamus is on tenterhooks waiting for the great man's decision, but he knows enough to be silent. Lord Walsingham and Lord Ferrando hold all the aces and they know it. _Come on, put me out of my misery. What is your decision?_ He thinks with a stab of impatience.

"In truth Lord Ferrando was of the mind that you should receive the punishment you so clearly deserve. He doesn't believe that you deserve any clemency at all."  
Ferrando's eyes bore into him. There's no escaping that pitiless gaze. "To put it coldly, Sir, you are a traitor to your monarch and your country. There are some that would regard the information you gave us as positively treasonous."

"Treasonous?" Seamus squeaks, despite himself. He envisages himself stretched on the rack as they try to squeeze that last little bit of information from his miserable suffering body. Broken on the wheel...seeing his guts pulled out of his body as the flames burn. _A terrible death. I would spare Nate the pain of seeing me like that. I have to accept the offer, even if it means selling my soul in the process._

"My lord, I know I was a fool to get involved with these men. But I have endeavoured to make things right-"

"I haven't quite finished speaking." Sir Francis gently reminds Seamus. He wonders miserably if the Englishman merely enjoys toying with his food. 

"In mitigation, you did come to us, at great risk to yourself to warn us. That's something that I feel should be taken into account."

"What will you do to me. And my family?" asks Seamus, bowing his head and resigning himself to his fate.

"I believe that we should utilise your talents for gathering information in a more positive fashion. You and your son work for us, gleaning information from the French court, and we will overlook your past indiscretions against the English Crown."

At first Seamus is relieved that against the odds Lord Walsingham has extended mercy to him for his mistake. But as the lord's words sink in, he realises his ordeal isn't quite over yet.

"My son?" he falters.

"Yes. I believe his name is Nathaniel, is it not? We want you to train him to work alongside you gathering intel."

"He's just a lad. He's barely out of skirts, my lord. And you want him to spy for you?" Seamus protests.

"May I remind you that the boy is ideally placed in the royal family to assist you? He is loved by them. He has immense musical talent and intelligence, which they laud and recognise. We could maintain his professional studies while allowing him to earn his way passing information."

Despite his instinctive visceral horror at the thought of Sir Francis weaving his boy into their dangerous scheme, Seamus can't help being slightly tempted by the offer. _Nate is very talented, and I do want him to make the best of his gifts. Perhaps-_

 _What was he thinking to succumb to such lures?_ He tell himself. _Nate would be in immense danger for most of his days. He is only a boy, and yet Sir Francis is demanding that Nate be trained to a man's job. What should happen if he fails?_

"I am willing to do what ever I can to atone for my mistake. But my son-"  
Godfather leans forward, clearly losing patience. "We will not strike bargains here."

"You ask me to put my lad in greatest danger for my mistake. Surely you can see my misgivings, Sires."

"No boy, no deal." Lord Ferrando says, unruffled by Seamus's plea for mercy. "Those are the terms of your mercy. Take them or leave them."

Seamus knows what he must do, although his conscience sorely troubles him. He sinks to his knees and kisses the rings on Sir Francis's hands.

"A word of advice Fick?"

Seamus is so relieved, he'll accept anything these two lords say. They have the power of life and death over him and his young son. Their lives depend on Walsingham and Ferrando's whims. "Yes. my lord, anything!" 

"If the lad serves his little mistress well, his fortune will be made. So you'd better impress on him the importance of keeping Margot on side. As long as he has her protection, there's not a man at court nor the entire kingdom of France who can touch him."

-0-

Present day, Margot's chambers, evening

The Ladies in waiting are idly conversing as they congregate in Margot's chambers as they prepare her gown for the lavish exclusive supper party for members of the royal family plus their favoured guests. Gillone fusses over the fine wine-red velvet, thickly embroidered with gold thread and seed pearls in a ornate sumptuous pattern.

"You heard about poor Eugenie Chiasson de Beauharnais. A sad business, it was. Taken by gunpoint at night from her own father's chateau and imprisoned until she agreed to marry that wretch. And look how badly he treated her afterward once he got what he most desired." said Elise, passing on the latest gossip.

"He didn't love her, he loved her gold. It's not remotely the same thing." A young girl sat by the window, nose down in a book.

"Oh, the mouse has a tongue in her head?" remarks Anne-Marie de Guise with a spiteful edge to her voice. "I'd started to think you lost the use of your voice, Madeleine?"

"I don't concern myself with gossip, my lady." she said in reply,going back to her tome. 

"Did he force her?" Margot says suddenly. The ladies in waiting get to their feet and sink into curtseys, taken completely by surprise by her approach. 

"Where the hell did she spring from? She must have been listening behind the door!" hissed Charlotte, straightening her skirts to sinks into a dutiful curtsey.

"My Lady?"

"Ma'am." the girls all bob respectfully.

"What were you all conversing about so intently before I came in?" Margot asks.

The girls shift and fidget uncomfortably.

"We were talking about Eugenie." Henriette says with barely concealed reluctance. "But you mustn't dwell on such unpleasant matters, ma cherie."

"Did he force her? Take her against her will? He must have done. Why else would she have felt obliged to marry him afterwards? These men! These arrogant bastards. Poor Eugenie, I liked her, such a lovely girl. I'll send her a message and some gold if I can."

The women look at each other with dubious little glances and discreet whispers behind fans. 

_She's getting distressed again. Somebody distract her. She's brooding on bad things._

Gillone tries to guide her mistress away from dangerous waters. "Come my lady, you mustn't think of such things. Shall I brush your hair for you, and we have selected a marvellous gown for the supper? You will look like a angel!"

Margot allows herself to be led away by her maidservant.

 

"That was a close shave!" one of the maids says as soon as they leave.

Henriette looks disapprovingly at the rest of the girls. "A little too close to home, don't you think girls? Really, you must guard your tongues better."

"D'ye really think Monsieur de Guise is crazy enough to try and abduct a princesse? Did we throw out enough of a hint?" Elise Blondet et Gallais says, anxiety lacing her voice."You know we could not speak of it openly." 

"Margot is an intelligent girl. And I have plans in hand. De Guise shall not get his own way, not in this case. 'Twould be suicidal to allow him to take such a path, when the king mislikes him so.You leave this to me, ladies."

"It just goes to show you must be so careful if you are fortunate enough to be in receipt of a fortune. There are fortune hunters everywhere, eager to take advantage in unsettled times.

"Abduct yourself a heiress and gain yourself an ill-gotten fortune." Elise remarks.

"It's not like you to be so cynical, Elise? That's at least one good thing the king has done. Make it illegal to marry clandestinely without the consent of the parents." Henriette says comfortably, "- and God willing it will not happen here."

"Can't you speak to him? Persuade de Guise from this rash scheme. Surely he cannot believe he will succeed?"

Henriette laughs. "D'ye think he listens to me? I'm only his sister in law! What sway do you think I have with him?"

"We know the rules of the game. We know our duty as aristocratic ladies. We have to marry and well. We have to carry on the great dynasties. That is our duty, as much it is our brother's duty to command troops and defend the faith, to govern the country."

"What about love. Does no one care about matters of the heart?" says one of the younger maids wistfully.

Henriette gives a worldly little laugh. "Take your happiness now with both hands and worry about the future when it is time. Isn't that our motto?"

 

Margot fidgets, not able to concentrate on anything for very long. She picks up her volume of Ovid's poems and notices with a frown that she's creased the spine again. Nate will be mad. She knows he hates it when she accidentally damages one of his books and he's bound to be cross when he notices she's bent the spine again. She swiftly looks at the frontispiece. Yes, it's one of his.

Nate's changed. He's more distant, he smiles at her less. His aloofness leads her to become more and more outrageous in a quest for his attention. Sometimes he's busy and she feels that she shouldn't be taking up his time, which is ridiculous. He's my friend, my musician, my lover. 

She trails her fingertips over the soft flesh of her inner arm remembering his touch on her skin. Whatever else happens, he still physically desires her as much as she does him. That at least hasn't changed. And yet sometimes I wonder whether I can ever please him. She ponders their argument in the alcove where she literally had to grab him by the wrist to make him stay with her. The bitterness and annoyance in his voice as they fought over her appearance in Lord Hasser's bedroom.

I don't see what the problem was. 'Twas only a jest! Maman and Charles want me to sleep with Lord Hasser, and discomfit the arrogant de Guise. Turning up in his bedroom was an efficient way to achieve that. By now half the court will have heard of her boldness and dismissed it as her usual licentious behaviour. 

I have no idea what's going on. It isn't as if he doesn't still want me because he does.  
This is a nightmare. I do love him but but we both know that we have to give each other up. Once I am married to Henri de Navarre I can hardly carry on my affair with Nate. She recoils at the thought of leaving Nate. No! I love him too much to give him up willingly.  
Perhaps I am a bit thoughtless flaunting Lord Hasser in front of him. She remembers Nate's reluctant admission of jealousy.

Maybe I should do something for him, buy him a present or something. Margot cheers up at the thought of indulging in some retail therapy. Just the thing to get her out of the claustrophobic royal palace.

I will. I'll go into the city incognito again and get him something he'll enjoy. I just want us to be happy for the little time we have left to us. Is that so wrong?

* * *

The Gardens of Fontainebleau

 

De Guise leans close to the wall of yew hiding himself until he hears the light feminine step approaching .

At last she's here he thinks to himself, and she's managed to come alone. Good girl.

He grasps her wrist and pulls her close finding her poignard drawn close to his throat."Peace, mon ange, 'tis me."

The blade doesn't drop. The point drags across the skin of his neck almost lazily.

"Drop it, Margot. It's me. De Guise."

She makes no move to remove her mask, but there's no mistaking her.

"What did you want with me?" she says, a petulant note in her voice. "I had quite a job getting away from everyone else. Really, you are most inconvenient, Monsieur de Guise-"

"I'm surprised Nate let you out of his sight, let alone Lord Hasser. How can you bear him being so clingy?" His lip curls in scorn at the mere thought of his rival, "Constantly at your side, languishing like a lovelorn puppy. Don't you get bored of his cloying attentions?"

"Well, if you're going to be like that, Henri, I'll go. I don't have to listen to this." she snaps tartly, pulling her hand away from his possessive grasp.

"Stop, Margot, wait! I didn't mean it. I know it upsets you if I talk of him."

"Well, don't then! If you can't be civil-"

"Come, Let's talk. It's been so long since we have talked." He lets his voice fall low and seductive, knowing the effect it has on her.

"You know Charles doesn't like me associating with you and neither does Maman. I don't wish to provoke either of them since they are so set on my marriage to that bumpkin Henri de Navarre." Margot says primly.

"Have you changed your mind, dearest? Do you no longer care for me?"

A cynical smile curves her mouth even as she allows him to lavish fervent kisses on her wrists and bare forearms.

"Now Henri, anyone would think you were all lovelorn at the thought of me. You can't expect me to believe that?"

"Why is it so hard for you to believe me that I love you?" he declares.

Margot withdraws her hand languidly. "If I were a simple woman, not a princess at all, would you love me then? Would you love me at all?"

"That's not fair, Margot-" He starts.

A smile of malicious triumph hovers around her mouth as the barb hits home. "No, Henri, I didn't think so."

"You are cruel, Marguerite. Fair, yet cruel. You know how I burn for you. How I can't stand the thought of you with other men. That's why you're toying with Lord Hasser. To teach me a lesson, that you belong to no man, least of all me-"

Margot has the cheek to look faintly amused from behind her mask. Her mouth quirks up into that ironic smile he knows so well. "It's not always about you, you know. Did it never occur to you that I might actually like Lord Hasser? He's a handsome man, kind, generous and giving in bed, why wouldn't I desire him ?"

"If you were so blissfully happy with him, then why did you try and lose him to meet me tonight? Why do you sigh and tremble at my touch? Face it, Margot he's a pretty little diversion. When you get bored of his innocence you'll come back to me where you belong."

He spots the flush on the bottom half of her face in the half-light and feels a surge of triumph. _She cannot help herself. She's addicted to the danger and the thrill of being with me._

"We belong together, my lady." He whispers into her ear. "Two gorgeous rogues, eager to grasp all life has to offer them."

She extricates herself from his embrace. "Ah, such fine words-" she says with an effort. "Have you been taking poetry lessons from Ronsard ? And I believe your new wife might have something to say about your declaration of love?"

"Since when have you ever given a damn about my wife Catherine?"

"So you would throw my own weakness back in my face? Now who's being cruel?" she fires right back at him.

"Always you delight to mock me for your own amusement. Parading your lovers in front of me. Yet we both know you cannot resist me-"

"You presume too much, Henri." She says, even as she shudders and gasps under his calculated amorous assault.

"I know you, Marguerite. You are a woman of fierce and unbridled passions. You need and crave me as much as you deny yourself and mock me."

"Henri, stop this. Someone might see us at any moment. My brother would be furious if he knew I was alone with you-"

"Does he make you feel this way?" he persists, nipping her just behind her ear and making her gasp. "Make you long and burn for him like this?"

"He? I don't know who you mean?" she says. There's an edge to her voice. De Guise would almost believe it to be guilt.

His grip on her tightens, betraying his jealousy. "Nathaniel . I know you still allow that callow youth into your bed out of sheer pity. How does he make you feel this way about him?"

She pulls away from him instantly, drawing down an emotional barrier that even de Guise can sense. She rubs her reddened wrists, scowling at his show of force.

"What did I say? Why do you withdraw from me, Marguerite?"

"You crossed the line, Monsieur de Guise." She says icily, haughty as the princess she is.

"About Nate?" he says as if he can't believe she would take offence on his behalf. "You can't be angry with me about him?"

"I warned you not to disparage Nate ever to me, but you simply won't listen."

"You defend him? Why? What is he to you?"

"He's my best friend. I trust him as I trust no other. If you were wise and if you really loved me as you claim, you would cultivate his good favour."

De Guise makes a sound of sheer scorn at that."He would be nothing without your patronage. One drop of questionable de Guise blood, and he thinks he is good enough to associate himself with kings and princes."

"Stop it!" she snaps. 

"You cannot truly care for him. Maybe you pity him. He's pretty as a picture and all your girls dote on him, I see that. He makes himself indispensable to them. But you cannot tell me you feel for him a tenth of what you feel for me."

She turns on him, angered by de Guise's sheer arrogance about Nate. "Don't you get it, Henri? If you think I'm with Nate out of pity you couldn't be more mistaken."

His face is white with suppressed rage. He grips her to him so tightly she protests."Henri, let me go! What is wrong with you?" she kicks out at him, catching him on the shin.

"Do you sleep with him?"

She bites her lip and averts her eyes. He's so furious with her as the truth dawns on him, he seizes her by the shoulder and shakes her.

"Tell me you're jesting. You want Nate? Instead of me? How could you?"

She pushes him away."You shouldn't asked me, Henri."

"You shouldn't have lied to me, Marguerite."

"I never lied to you. I didn't tell you the truth Henri, but I didn't lie to you either-"

De Guise makes a noise of scorn at that one.

"You knew the rules of the game when we started this. Why are you changing on me now?-" she says, her voice has a shrill defensive overtone that tells him she knows she is in the wrong here.

De Guise is infuriated at the thought of his rival. "Him? Why the hell would you choose him over me?"

"Because he loves me."

He cannot believe she would dare to say that to his face. _That Nate would dare to love her? That she would encourage him? That she would sleep with him over the great de Guise?_ "I love you, you can't deny that-"

"Do you?" she asks in that disconcerting candid way that went straight to the heart of the matter. Exactly like her brother the king, that same wide eyed direct manner that disarms opponents and leads them to stumble into truth.

"You have to break it off. You have to leave him. Dismiss him from your service. I will not tolerate him making a fool of me-"

Her eyes flash from behind the mask at his high handed manner. Too late, he remembers how stubborn she can be when crossed. Her attachment to that blasted lad, despite the odds. "I will do no such thing, de Guise, and you are in no position to decree to me. We aren't married and we never will be. So how dare you dictate to me! I will be friends with who ever I please."

"You won't even consider it?"

"I will not give up my best friend because you cannot be mature about it. He is nothing but polite to you, you know."

"You told your mother you wanted to marry me!" he protests.

"Oh come, de Guise. We both know why I wanted to marry you. Because of your noble blood."

She's far too good at finding the exact phrase to hurt. The tender spot to infuriate a man."You cannot mean this!"

"It's my game, and it's my rules. If you don't like them, then you go back to your new wife Catherine and leave me alone." She lashes out with more than a hint of cruelty.

"You don't mean that!" he cries out, envisaging her slipping out of his grasp. "Margot, think about what you're saying. Don't turn your back on me. Not when we have such chemistry-"

"Goodbye, Henri. Perhaps my brother Charles is right. We shouldn't keep meeting like this." She says coolly, looking over her shoulder at him.

Before he can say anything else, she disappears round the yew hedge.

De Guise broods as he stalks out, mulling over her revelations, roiling in his anger about Nate and his place in Margot's affections. _How dare he? He is nothing compared to me. A mere musician. He would be nothing if not for his mother's distant link to the de Guise family. And yet she seems to be infatuated with him. Why? What does he have that I do not?_

He's not looking where he's going and nearly collides into them coming the other way. At the sight of her hand clasped in his, his arm round her waist as they walk de Guise's stomach clenches in fury.

They're not even paying attention. Lost in their own world and each other. Away from the scrutiny of court, it's obvious and he wonders how he didn't see it before. Margot looks up at Nate adoringly as if she cannot bear to tear her eyes from that face for even a moment.

"My Lord de Guise-" Nate says politely.

He grunts rudely in reply. Margot frowns at him, but he takes no notice.

"I wonder you do not get bored of feminine company?" snipes de Guise. "I suppose everyone must find their own level, Nathaniel."

It's been a long time since de Guise has been able to bully Nate. He merely gives him a faintly insolent smirk instead. De Guise clenches his fists in an attempt not to punch him.

"Can't you see we are busy, Monsieur de Guise?" she says in her haughtiest tone. The dismissal is clear.

"But-"

She turns her back on him, devoting her attention elsewhere. "What were you saying before we were so rudely interrupted, Nate?"

 

Even though he knows it will hurt him, he watches them that night at dinner. Jealousy surging in his gut as she sings with Nate, their voices blending in the air de cœur almost like two facets of the same glorious voice. Light and dark. Innocence and experience. She's on brilliant form that night, cruel hard and pitiless like a cut diamond sparkling in the light.

She rises, her eyes shining with mischief. "Let's dance, Nathaniel."

"They're such a beautiful couple." De Guise hears one of the ladies-in–waiting say idly as Nate dances with his mistress. "His golden beauty and she is fair as the morning star, everyone says it." 

"And how he looks at her. With such adoration in his eyes. I wish a man would look at me like that. She has no idea how lucky she is."

De Guise never thought that he would agree with Lord Colbert in a thousand years, but right now he can see the annoyance he feels mirrored on the English Lord's face. _The little jade is doing it on purpose. She cannot truly love him? Humble Nathaniel Fick. Little more than a servant compared to the great Duc de Lorraine? All this time she's sleeping with him. Granting him the favours she refuses to give to him._

She raises her skirts as she passes, showing off her neat footwork. Margot's always enjoyed dancing with her swains.The physical intimacy of that the dance allows and displays.

Now that he knows what to look for, it's all he sees. The way she moves into his arms, as if she knows full well she belongs there. Her satisfied smile as he touches her. Her hand splayed possessively on the small of his back, drawing him closer.

De Guise crushes the glass in his fist, not noticing the pain until the shards cut his palm open.

"Oh, My Lord, Look what you've done!" cries Catherine de Porcian, his new and unwanted wife.

Her simple concern angers him, even as he knows it's not her fault he lashes out at her. "Leave me, you bird brained wench. Always fussing over nothing-"

Catherine de Porcian's eyes fill with tears at his harsh voice. The music scrapes to a stop.

"Is there any need for you to be so boorish? If you can't be civil to my attendants then perhaps you should leave and have a serious think about your behaviour." Margot says, voice cold as frost.

He stumbles out, shamed by her cruel mocking laughter. He turns to see her take Nate's hand to lead back into the dance and a twist of murderous rage fills his mouth with bile.

_I will have my revenge on him, I swear it. Teach him not to presume to take what is mine_


	9. The Hunt

"Are you going out on the hunt?" Sir Francis asks Brad as the morning breaks.

His team leader grins, pleased for the chance to get back into the saddle.

"Of course, Sir. I can't wait for the chance to put Ombre through his paces. Get some fresh air, and some sport."

"Aren't you lads coming?" Espera asks cheerfully. "Might as well join you before I start my own mission, Sir Brad. Going up against the Jesuits-"

Ray makes a face. "Got a ton of translation to catch up on. Some of us have work to do, and can't be gallivanting all over the countryside in the company of Kings and Princes. Seriously, Brad have a good time. I know how you hate being cooped up in this place."

"What about you, Walt? I'm sure you'll welcome a chance to go on the hunt. This is meant to be one of the finest parks in France for game-"

"Can't. I'm under orders to attend the Lady Margot." He says tartly. "It seems since the male members of the household leave for the hunt, Lady Margot is at liberty to indulge in her love affairs. I, like Ray, have work to do."

"Slightly more pleasant work than Ray, I would say. I can't believe you're bitching and moaning about sleeping with Margot of all things." Sir Francis says with an edge to his voice. "After all, it's not as if you haven't already?"

Walt blushes most fervently.

"Fine. It seems Espera, Trombley and I will go on the hunt. If we hear anything whilst we are out, we'll report back in when we return. What are you going to do, Sir Francis?" Brad asks his boss.

"I have some correspondence to get through this morning, then Lord Ferrando and I have an appointment with the Queen Mother."

"An appointment with Catherine?" Walt asks, forgetting his sulk for a moment in his curiosity.

"Apparently she is very keen to converse with me about the terms of the treaty with home. Who knows, we might actually make some progress?"

 

Brad gets to the stables, and saddles up Ombre. He is surrounded by busy courtiers and their servants getting ready. His steed attracts nearly as much attention as he does, from virtue of its sheer size. Ombre seems like a throwback to those warhorses of old, magnificent medieval beasts who proudly carried those fabled knights into battle. 

'A fine horse-' says one noble, eyeing Ombre in admiration. 'How many hands does he stand, my Lord?' 

'Seventeen hands, I believe.' Brad answers. 'Pure bred from my farm back home. My Father bred horses, and I thought to follow him into that trade, but fate had a different idea.'

'A horse fit for a King.' Anjou remarks. 'May I have a go on him? Put him through his paces?'

Brad is loath to allow a cruel little worm like Anjou anywhere near his beloved horse. He's observed how he treats his own horses.

'With all due respect, Ombre can be very sensitive. It's best if you don't attempt to ride him unless he knows you. Maybe some other time, my lord Anjou?'

Anjou sulks, but Brad will not change his mind for the spoiled princeling.

 

As the hunt finally sets out with a thrilling burst of horns and drums, Brad rides with Espera and Henri de Navarre, who has joined the hunt from his lodgings in Paris. This is the first time he's seen the prince socially at close range and he decides to observe him to report to Sir Francis later.

'You've met my prospective bride. I haven't seen her for many years. What's your opinion of her?'

Brad doesn't have a good opinion of Margot not by any means, but there's only so much he can really say, whilst still remaining tactful.'A fine enough Princess. I'm sure she's very charming when she wants to be.'

Henri isn't offended by Colbert's opinion of his bride to be. He merely looks amused, not offended.

'I take it you're no fan of the Lady Margot then, Lord Colbert?'

'We can't all be madly in love with her. She'd get an incredibly swelled head otherwise.'

'It's funny, you sound exactly like my mother. She didn't have a great opinion of the princess either.' Henri laughs. "If Mother wasn't clucking about how tight she laces her stays, or her liberal use of rouge and paint at such a young age, she was appalled at her patronage of Brantôme and Ronsard. My mother-" Henri's mouth cracks into a smirk. "-was a very serious individual."

This intrigues Brad. _His mother didn't approve? Jeanne d'Albret objected to the marriage?_ He'd love to know more, but so far Henri isn't forthcoming.

'Do you see this?' 

As the court spot the boar tracks, Brad notes that the animal must be a giant of a beast. The tracks are clear, the damage to the undergrowth from its passing evident.  
Suddenly the boar breaks cover and dashes past the lord and ladies.

"Jesus Christ, it's a godamned monster!" exclaimed one duke.

'We shall have some rare sport this afternoon.' Says the king, kicking his horse into a headlong gallop. "Now for the chase!"

"Your Majesty, slow down. Please?"

Charles turns back, his eyes shining with the bloodlust. It's disconcerting for Brad to see such a delicate and frail man consumed by the emotion, like he's burning up inside.

The boar bursts from the dogs in a desperate effort and charges towards the king with a deafening squeal. It's mouth foaming with rage and horns lowered, it heads straight for the king.

"Jesus Christ. If anything happens to him-"

Charles's horse rears, but unfortunately he loses his balance and falls from the saddle with a curse. He groans as he lands on the forest floor.

"Your Majesty!"

"Damn it, Lord Colbert he's trapped underneath the horse." Henri shouts. "I hope he isn't injured!"

Brad leaps off his horse to aid the king before the boar goes on the attack.

"François, Help me, my brother!" the king calls, scarcely hiding the panic in his voice as the boar squeals threateningly, pawing at the ground.

Alençon has a cruel smile on his face as he levels his arquebus.

'Yes, take out the boar!' cries Henri. 'Who care about sport, as long as the king is safe!'

There's a glint in the younger man's eye that bodes trouble. He turns his gun and fires at the hind quarters of Charles's horse. The horse makes a terrible sound as he goes down. 

Brad is appalled at the spite, the senseless waste of a fine grey horse. _What the hell is the young prince thinking of? It can't be a bid for the throne? Even if the worst happened and Charles died, it wouldn't be Alençon who got the crown. It would be Anjou. What possible reason would he have for harming the king? Unless they were both working together. Having made some dreadful diabolical bargain to rid themselves of their royal brother._ Brad resolves to consult Sir Francis at the first opportunity.

'Ventre-saint-Gris, what are you doing?' cries out Henri. 'You're not meant to shoot the godamned horse! You're aiming at the boar, you idiot!'

'Maybe, that's exactly what I wanted?' Alençon laughs nastily as he spurs his horse and gallops away.

 

"I think," Alençon murmurs to himself, "that Anjou is King of France, and I am next in line. That's good enough for me!"

 

The boar's tusk has indeed grazed the king's thigh when a hand in an iron glove dashes itself against the mouth of the beast, and a knife is plunged into its shoulder. The animal squeals, eager to take on this new challenge and forgetting the king lying on the forest floor.

'Spear!' Brad bellows, taking charge quickly of the situation. A weapon is thrust at him. It's long enough to keep out of danger range as long as the animal doesn't decide to make any suicidal last charges. He only hopes it's reinforced enough. If it's not, and the spear breaks, it won't just be the king who's in danger.

'Help me, Henri. We're going to try and trap this monster. Divert it away from the king." he shouts at one of the shocked attendants. "Assist his Majesty! Get him a new horse and make sure he is safe!"

'Of course. What do you want done, Lord Colbert?'

'We're going to try and confuse this mean old cuss. Try and lead over to that rock."

Henri yells, a wild savage sound. Brad notices he's throwing his voice in different directions to confound the boar. He approves. Henri de Navarre is young and inexperienced but he takes direction well and even shows a undeniable amount of initiative. This shows me a great deal about his potential to rule. Sir Francis has certainly nailed his colours to the right mast.

The boar looks from Henri to Brad with mean cunning eyes, trying to decide which to attack first. It tries for a few feints, being driven back by Brad's spear.

"C'mon you mean bastard. Commit yourself!" mutters Brad watching his opponent.

Brad thrusts the spear into the boar with all his strength. It squeals and struggles, but it's well and truly caught, pinned against the rock. Blood jets out of the wound, spraying Brad and soaking his doublet. Brad wrinkles his nose. In this heat, it'll be a couple of minutes before he starts to reek like a butcher's shop at the end of trade.

'Is it dead?' Le Rochefoucauld yells.

Brad plants his foot firmly on the dying boar, the light fading from its furious little eyes. 'It is now.' 

"Hack off its head!"

Charles is still shaking after his frightening experience, but he focuses on Brad who's drenched in the blood of the boar, his linen shirt stiff with blood and stained scarlet.

'You saved my life-' he says, his aristocratic voice soft with wonder. '-Lord Colbert, you saved my life. You killed that monster with nothing more than a spear. How can I ever repay you?'

'You don't need to repay me, Sire I was merely doing my duty. I would have done it for anyone. And I didn't do it alone. Henri de Navarre more than helped me."

"Thanks, Harry for your quick thinking and your help!" he says, shaking his cousin's hand fervently. He looks over at his younger brother, and a curious look spreads over his face. A look to make most men flinch. Brad sees an entirely different, darker side to the monarch; one he did not expect from such an affable, gentle man. "Alençon, for a first-rate marksman you made a most curious shot."

"Fear for you, my brother, I swear!" he cries out, his voice squeaking unpleasantly.

Charles gives him another distrustful look, but holds his tongue for now.

'Vive le Anglais!' de Rochefoucauld shouts, eager to diffuse the tense atmosphere. "Lord Colbert, the hero of Fontainebleau!"

Alençon looks as though he's swallowed a wasp. He can barely induce himself to join in with the cheers for Brad and Henri's valour. Brad notices the royal brothers swop a significant glance and resolves to find out more about a possible plot at the palace.

 _There goes my clean campaign,_ he thinks with a wry tilt to his mouth.

 

Trombley has enjoyed the hunt even though Brad has largely left him to his own devices. He was slightly disappointed not to have been there when Brad tackled that huge monster of a boar. That would have been an exploit worth boasting about! 

De Guise and de Nevers are quite an entertaining pair though, muttering about the fellow hunters in bitchy sotto voce. He shakes his head about the blatant two-facedness of these French. If he was honest, he had to agree with Brad. The sooner they were out of this gilded paradise with its host of temptations, the better. 

He wanders off for a slash, and overhears the two nobles talking more quietly. Trombley decides to stay concealed and see what he can pick up. He even brings out a couple of slates and a stylus to take notes, just like he's observed Ray do when he's on surveillance. Just because he needles him doesn't mean he can't take notes and mimic the guy. Brad seems to approve of practically everything he does. If only Lord Colbert would be like that with me! He thinks to himself.

'Shush ! We never know who may be listening.' 

'Out here?'

'Have you heard from the English partner yet?' asks de Nevers.

De Guise makes a scornful sound in the back of his throat. 'He didn't succeed, as far as I can work out. We're going to have to carry out phase two of the plan, once their suspicions have been laid to rest.' 

'Our great experiment-' De Nevers says knowingly. 'How are you going to deal with the Englishman?'

De Guise sounds amused. 'We need to eliminate him. Just in case he decides to incriminate his masters.'

'As I understand, Lord Cecil is still trying to investigate. How are you going to get close to him when he's still in custody?'

'I have my ways and my means, don't worry about it, dear brother.'

'I've had a report come in from our venerable brothers. They've got expert help to solve our problem. The Florentine believes he is close to a solution, but he requires more funds-'

'More funds? We're paying him a bloody fortune.'

'We can afford it, which is more than can be said about the Valois.' They both laugh at that crack. '-Nevertheless if he starts getting greedy, I'll have a word.'

'Any more news?'

'Anne-Marie tells me that the Queen–Mother has given her a rather interesting assignment.'

'What?'

'Catherine wants to know what Sir Francis is up to at court. She doesn't trust the English-'

'She's getting her to seduce Sir Francis? He seems hardly the type, does he? Perhaps the old lady is finally losing her touch-'

'Oh no, it's his companions that Catherine is highly interested in. The ones cutting a swathe through court at the moment. Every woman casts her cap at them, wanting to lure them into their beds like Margot and Lord Hasser. '

'That idiot-' retorts De Guise. 'Margot is just using him to make a point.'

'The king seems to want Lord Colbert as yet another Protestant friend. It was bad enough with Le Rochefoucauld, but if this newcomer gained advancement those heretics would have far too much influence at court. Charles is weak. He listens to anyone with a strong enough personality to dominate his. Lord Colbert is dangerous-'

"Dangerous?"

"He doesn't give a damn about any of us. How can we influence a man who barely hides his disdain of court? What has such a man got to lose?"

"I doubt anything will come of it. If it was going to happen it would have by now. Charles may promise, but until he actually gives him anything I don't think we should worry." De Nevers tries to reassure his brother.

"What about Henriette and the assistant, Louis? I hear rumours that she flirts with him."

"She flirts with everyone, it hardly surprises me-" De Nevers says dismissively.

'What if it's more than flirting? You know she's a bit of a loose cannon. Margot's influence, I assume-'

De Nevers laughs. 'I'm not concerned. She's too clever to do anything as stupid as fall in love. She loves the prestige of joining our family too much to risk it on a fling. At most, it'll be a fuck, pure and simple and I can hardly begrudge her that. I haven't been faithful to her for a day of our marriage.'

Trombley is riveted by the casual discussion of court and plots. _This is excellent. Sir Francis will be pleased with me._ He tries to write as small as possible so he can fit as much detail as possible on the slate.

'Are you sure you aren't losing your grip on Margot? She still wants you? She is still prepared to defy her family for you?'

'Of course she does-' 

'It's just that she seems quite in lust with this Lord Hasser. He's a handsome man, no denying it. And she did ignore you in the Volta, to his favour-'

'Do I look worried?'

'Maybe you should be-' counters the other man slyly, obviously trying to get back at him for that crack about his wife. 

De Guise laughs. 'It's Catherine wants her to be distracted before the wedding. She's going along with it for the moment. But rest assured the jade still wants me.'

'What about the troubadour?' asks de Nevers. 'You know she's attached to him. Henriette tells me she still sleeps with him. Not often, but still-'

If de Guise sounded disparaging about Walt, he sound positively jealous now. 'She tups the Englishman on her mother's orders. It means nothing. As for the troubadour, she swives him to ensure his loyalty.'

'They've been together for a long time. She trusts him. Does she trust you? She tells him everything.'

De Guise is silent for a moment. Trombley imagines that he's smirking. Or sulking. Either is possible. 

'-And he has not the wit or intelligence to capitalise on it. Nathaniel Fick is a dreamer. His head is in the clouds half the time. It's never occurred to him he could use his position to make himself a fortune. But he does not. He's not interested in court intrigue or advancement, only writing his songs and mooning over the Lady Margot. A woman he can never have. Trust me, de Nevers, I have nothing to fear from a man like that .'

 

When Trombley and Brad return back to base, he submits his report.

"De Guise and his brother said all this?" questions Sir Francis.

"Yes, Sir. They believed themselves to be completely alone so they spoke quite freely."   
Trombley turns and gives Nate a curious look which Brad notices. He wonders what that's all about but he hasn't time to pursue it now. 

As Sir Francis read through the notes on the slate, a smile of satisfaction spreads across that wily face.

"This is highly informative, Trombley. Well done, we can definitely use this. I'll get onto to Lord Burghley straight away and tell him to boost the security detail for Funteyn and his family. We won't let de Guise and his minions get to him."

* * *

The next day, Brad meets Charles and Henri in the garden.

"Ah, just the man I wanted to see-" says Charles with a gracious smile.

"Your Graces-" Brad bows in deference to the two kings.

"Henri and I are thinking about going for a ride. I wondered whether you would like to join us."

"Certainly, my Lord." Brad wonders what this could be about, but both monarchs seem to be good-natured at the moment.

"Where are we going?" asks Henri.

Charles gives him a serene smile. "You'll see. All in good time, cousin-"

Brad pays attention to the king's tone. _Very mysterious indeed._

 

'This is our little secret-' Charles says with a smile.He knocks on the door of a tiny homely little cottage. The curtain twitches and a pale face peers out for a moment, before it's pulled back into place.

The door opens and a young woman with long chestnut curls stands there. She has a sweet welcoming face with a genuine smile.

Charles takes her hands and looks into her eyes with a fond smile. Brad sees that he appears less harassed than he has ever seen him. He might even say he looks happy.

'Come in and welcome, dearest.' she says. The little lad clinging to her skirts stares up at them with big golden hazel eyes, sucking his thumb. He must be two years old, maybe three.

It's not until they enter the cottage that Brad notices how like the king's those striking eyes are. This must be his mistress and their young son. 

The lad holds up his arms to be held and cuddled by his father. Charles ruffles his long dark curls as he buries his face in the velvet of his father's doublet. They are like a little secret family. No wonder the king wants to keep this from court, from his real family.

'Marie, ma cherie-' Charles says, kissing her, his voice full of love. 'I have some friends for you to meet. I know you get lonely here, my love. This is my brother to be, Henri de Navarre and Lord Brad Colbert from England.'

She blushes. 'Pleased to meet you, Sirs. I'll get you some refreshment. You must be hungry and thirsty after the hunt.'

They make their way into the small homely kitchen. There's a rich gamey stew bubbling in the pot, fresh wheaten bread and butter straight from the oven and a jug of foaming ale. Good honest hearty food, a world away from court. No wonder Charles seems to sit straighter, breathe easier, smile more here. This is probably the only place where he can truly be himself. He realises his good fortune that Charles trusts him and Henri enough to share with them this secret double life.

'You should be very nice to these gentlemen, Marie. They both saved my life today at the hunt.'

Her eyes grow wide with fear. 'Oh, Charles!'

"It was magnificent!" he says full of boyish enthusiasm. Brad hadn't realised that the king was quite so young. Little more than a lad. "We were chasing a boar. I twisted my ankle and my horse was shot. The boar grazed my thigh! I was in danger but Lord Colbert and Henri teamed up to kill it."

Marie's eyes well up with tears. She tries to dash them away, but the men notice her unhappiness.

"Marie? My love?" There's a tenderness in Charles's voice as he gathers her to his chest for comfort. "What ails thee? Why are you so upset?"

"I don't like to think of you in danger, my lord." She says, her eyes filling up with tears. "When you said the boar wounded you? I couldn't bear it!"

He sees her agitation and strokes her back in contrition. "I'm sorry, Marie. I know you worry about me. But Lord Colbert saved my life."

A smile breaks out on her face, and he can work out what Charles sees in her. Marie is no great flamboyant beauty like those bold rapacious women at court. Her charm isn't in her face or figure, but her sweetness and her vulnerability. Her sunny smile and kind gentle heart. Perhaps she suits this king, still so young and unformed very well. 

"I am so grateful to you, sir." She sinks to her knees and kisses his hands. Brad is embarassed by such naked excess of feeling. He pats her on the head, trying silently to encourage her to rise from her abject position.

"He is so dear to me." she says softly, clasping his hand close to her damp face.

 

They eat heartily, appetites whetted by the hunt.

'So Lord Colbert, what brings you and your team to my fair court?'

Brad doesn't relax his guard, not for a moment. 'Sir Francis employs me as his assistant and secretary while he is deep in negotiations.'

Henri laughs. 'A secretary? You certainly don't look like any pen-pusher I've ever met!'

Many other men would be intimidated by the prospect of being interrogated by two crowned and anointed kings, but not Brad Colbert. He takes it in his stride. 'After years of fighting and active service, I decided that a quiet life has some appeal. Besides, Sir Francis has a mind to train me as a statesman which suits me perfectly.'

"A man of action and a man of politics-'

"Yes." Brad replies. "I think it's important that the people who make policy, the decision makers have some kind of practical experience. They should know how to fight, how to motivate people to give their best in service of their country."

"A radical idea-" says Henri, although Brad notices he is paying close attention to his opinion. Perhaps there's more to Henri de Navarre than the rough Béarnais lad, eager for a tumble, taking nothing serious.

"An important one, Sire. I think it only fair that you shouldn't ask your troops to do something you do not know how to do. Or aren't prepared to do yourself, if push comes to shove. Leaders must lead by example ."

 

Brad is about to leave, when he sees Charles lingering next to him.'Sire?'

'I was thinking about what you were saying about leaders leading by example, Lord Colbert.'

'Yes, Sire?' he prompts.

'D'ye think that's why the people like de Guise and Anjou better than me? Because they fought for the Catholic faith, and I press for peace?'

Brad isn't sure how to reassure the king. This is the root of his problem. He feels inadequate compared to a man like de Guise who seems from outward appearance to be the man he cannot be. The king that France needs so desperately.

* * *

Brad notices a distinct change the way the team are treated after the hunt. Once everyone realises that Brad has gained an important new friend and that Charles values his judgement, the courtiers flock round Brad, all eager to gain his favour. Frankly, Brad finds it irritating.

* * *

Queen Elisabeth sits by the fire working on her needlepoint. She furrows her brows over a stitch which refuses to lie right looking like a porcelain figurine, all golden hair and pink and white skin.

"My lady, good day to you." Charles says formally greeting his wife with a kiss to her fair white hand.

Brad can't help being struck by how similar Marie Touchet and Elisabeth are. Charles's two great loves. There is a meek, almost childlike quality they share. Even though he senses the king's heart is Marie's, he treats his queen with every possible courtesy. Perhaps in a strange way he loves them both.

"My lord-" she says, starting to rise from her seat.

"Please don't let me disturb you." he says to her with a brief kiss on her pale cheek.   
"This is Lord Colbert. He's come here from England in the service of Lord Walsingham."

"Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Sire." She says sweetly, looking up at him through gold lashes. "I hope you will have time to look in on our daughter?"

"Certainly, my wife." he says his hand moving over the swell of her heavy belly. She stares up at him adoringly.

Anjou sweeps in dressed in the very latest fashion. Charles's nose wrinkles with scorn as he sees his detested brother. It's either that or the cloying scent Anjou has smothered himself with.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Alexandre?" he says testily.

"Forgive me brother, I only sought to pay court to the Queen Elisabeth. You don't mind, do you?" he turns the laser beam of his attention to Elisabeth who looks uncertain of whether 'tis proper to accept the blandishments of the prince when her husband glowers so fiercely next to her. She gives the king an uncertain look.

As Anjou retreats from the conflict with a smirk, Brad notices Charles's hand still clenched convulsively on the hilt of his sword.

 

Rudy's watching the team go through their paces in the courtyard with a keen eye, shouting out encouragement and reproaches as he watches the team in combat.

"Very good, Brad. Remember to snap back for the riposte. If you're too committed that slight delay could be exploited by an unscrupulous opponent.Walt, try not to favour your right side so much otherwise it could develop into a habit." He shakes his head at Trombley. "You so nearly got it, Trombley. Good effort." 

The lad looks slightly surprised at the unaccustomed praise. His cheeks flush slightly.

Nançay joins the team and observes them at work. _There's no shame in being beaten by a team so well skilled in the art of combat. If this is their teacher, no wonder Lord Colbert made short work of me. Curious that they all purport to be nothing more than Lord Walsingham's secretaries. No wonder Catherine is starting to ask awkward questions about them._

"Monsieur de Nançay, what a surprise!" Sir Francis says, indicating for the group to come to rest. "Come, do join us for a moment."

"Her Majesty requests your presence Sir Francis for the archery tournament this afternoon. We will be gathering in the courtyard." Brad considers this to sound more like a command and a refusal is on his lips, when he notices Sir Francis catch his eye and shake his head.

"That's very considerate of her. We will be there." He says eventually.

Walt looks wary at getting more involved in Catherine's mind games. "Sir? Are you sure?"

"It's an ideal opportunity to observe de Guise. I know he is competing for the prize. He always does, and he usually wins it as well. I imagine Catherine will probably like you to compete too Walt, seeing the circumstances."

Walt tries to suppress a groan. Getting involved with Margot is making life very complicated.

Trombley perks up, looking more interested. "D'ye think we'll all get to compete? It's about time we got to show off our skills. We can take any of these Frenchies, Can't we Sir Francis? With our hand tied behind our backs."

Sir Francis considers the option with a furrowed brow. "I don't see why not."

"I'll let her Majesty know you've accepted her invitation." Nançay says with a businesslike flourish.

"Are you going to compete, Nate?" Ray asks.

Nate considers it for a moment. "Maybe in the archery tournament for a couple of rounds. It doesn't really appeal to me, and Daisy-" he flushes as he realises his telling slip of the tongue. "I mean, the Princesse doesn't like me to compete."

* * *

Brad pulls back the bow and aims at the target. The clean clear zing of the arrow rings out as it flies from the bow and zooms towards its target.

"Strike three." He mutters, pleased that he's acquitted himself well.

Charles goes up to the target himself to inspect Brad's shot.

"Dead centre. For the third time. Lord Colbert, I have to say that I'm impressed by your talent with a bow."

Catherine frowns as Margot presents the prize to the team with a smile and a public kiss for Walt. De Guise is furious he didn't even reach the finals. Everyone was there to witness his humiliation.

 

"You seem troubled, your Grace." De Retz remarks, watching her grim expression.

"What did you notice about our victors?" she says brusquely.

De Retz is rather taken aback by her sharpness. "The foreigners?"  
"They're very skilled. Excellent shots, all of them. Every single shot on target. To within an inch of dead centre. Do you know how difficult that is?"

"Luck, that's all." De Retz hastens to reassure his mistress. "Sir Francis's men just seem to have the luck of the devil!"

"I'm willing to bet they all have a military background. They're soldiers. So what is Sir Francis doing with them in his entourage?"

* * *

When Brad goes to see the king that afternoon, he is stopped by his servant Etienne .

"Lord Colbert, I'm afraid this isn't a good time for you to visit. The king is indisposed."

"Indisposed?"

Etienne fidgets, unwilling to break a confidence."Can I rely on your discretion, Sir?" he whispers.

Brad hastens to reassure eager to get to the bottom of the mystery. "Of course Etienne."

"His Majesty is sometimes ill. He suffers from torments."

"Torments?" He wishes the servant would speak plainly. He hears an unearthly yell of rage and pain and the whine of a beaten animal from the room. _What on earth is going on in there?_

 

Brad decides to try the door. Heaven knows what is going on in there. Charles may do himself an injury.

"You can't go in there-" Etienne says, wringing his hands.

"Watch me-" Brad says decisively striding through the door.

 

Charles is lying on the floor, twitching and writhing as if a current runs through his body. There's foam gathered round his mouth and his glassy unseeing eyes are bloodshot. The beaten dog tries to limp to the door but it's welts are too painful and it lies, whining and growling by the threshold.

"Your Majesty?"

He sees the whip clenched fiercely in the king's hand and he realises what has happened.

"Put down the whip, Sire. You don't need it any more." He says quietly.

Charles stares at him unrecognisingly. Brad wonders whether he'll take the whip to him next in his frenzy.

"Lord Colbert?" He says hesitatingly as he lets Brad prise the bloodstained whip from his tightly clenched hands.

Brad is relieved to see the personality slowly come back into his eyes. The mild affable man he's got to know and develop some sympathy for is back. But for how long?

Charles flings his arms round him, holding him tightly. He can feel the tremble of his thin limbs. He's a tense bundle of frenetic energy coursing through that wiry frame, driving himself to the brink of exhaustion over and over again. _To what purpose?_

"Your Grace, what ails you?" he asks.

"It happened again, didn't it? The fear came over me." Those striking wide set eyes stare at him, so full of remorse and terrible regret. At this close range Brad finds the strong resemblance between Charles and Margot very disconcerting. The long straight Valois nose. The length of the straight dark lashes fringing the eyes. Despite the fact that her eyes are as dark blue as pansies, and his are that unusual golden hazel colour, they're very similiar in shape.

"The fear?"

"I am a bad person ." Charles's voice is low and raw with shame. "- I know I shouldn't have done it. I always regret mistreating my dogs. But when the fear is on me, I can't control myself. I don't know what I am doing until it leaves, and then-"

"You don't remember anything, your Grace?"

Charles shakes his head. "Nothing at all. Until I found myself on the floor and you standing over me." His voice falls low, raw and mortified. "It's all a blank. A void -"  
Charles see the wounded dog and he drops to his knees. "My Risque-Tout! No! What have I done?"

The dog tries to sidle away in fear of his volatile master. Charles gets the blood on his shaking hands as he unsuccessfully tries to clean the wounds. Brad kneels down to help him. There's tears running down his face. "Oh Lord, help me! Didn't mean it! I didn't-"   
'You must excuse my frailty-' Charles's eyes are still bloodshot and his hands are trembling uncontrollably. "Damn it, I need a drink! Would you do the honours?"

'There's no need to apologise, Sire.' Brad says hastily, handing him the goblet of Burgundy. Charles gulps it down in a draught, while Brad watches him considering the next step to take.

Charles thrust the goblet back at Brad. His hands are shaking. "More. I need more-"

 

He'd heard rumours of Charles's weakness but until now hadn't had a chance to observe exactly what ailed the king. Seen his dark side at first hand.  
He knew Lord Ferrando and Lord Walsingham had referred to his problem but obliquely. Not daring to baldly say the truth: that Charles is clinging by his bloodied fingernails to his reason, and this nation is ruled by a functional madman.

* * *

The Next Day

"May we talk, Lord Colbert? In confidence?"

Brad sees no choice but to agree. Inwardly he wonders at what the king wants. It's not beyond possibility that he has worked out what the team are really doing at his court. One thing he has worked out since he has earned the friendship of the young monarch: Charles may be weak and unstable, but he sees a lot more of what is going on than many would suggest. He and the team would be fools to underestimate his intelligence. 

"Let us walk into the forest. I find a man can discuss things more freely there than at the palace. There are too many eager ears here."

"Will you be –" Brad isn't quite sure how to refer to the king's malady to his face.

"Yes, before you ask. I am quite recovered from my 'episode', thank you, Lord Colbert." He says with as much dignity as he can muster. "I imagine you have questions you want answering."

"It is not for me to ask questions of you. You don't have to justify yourself to me."

Charles gives Brad a careful look."A very tactful answer, and one I would expect from a man like you."

Brad silently gives him the space to unburden himself. It isn't long before Charles starts to speak.

"I suffer from my health most terribly. It's important I try to live a normal life as far as I am able, do my royal duties as king. Otherwise there are people who would take great pleasure on taking advantage of my weakness." His mouth works furiously as his mind dwells on his relatives.

Brad tries to get him off the subject as it obviously upsets him. "People close to you?"

Charles leans close. "My brother is highly ambitious. In fact both of them are. They haven't forgiven me for living quite so long."

"You think they would attempt to harm you?" he asks carefully.

 _Is this paranoia, or is there something in Charles's fears?_ He recollects the mean pitiless look on Alençon's face as he leveled his arquebus on the horse. There's a lot at stake here and the links between the investigation and this fraught struggle grow stronger by the day.

"It's not a question of thinking, Lord Colbert. Anjou is a dangerous man and so is my redoubtable mother. You need to be on your guard against them. You and your team."

Brad stiffens. _How much does the king know?_ He thinks, his mind working furiously.

Charles remains placid and affable as ever. "You intrigue her interest. She loves a challenge, and right now with your feats of skill and bravery, you are fair game. Trust me Lord Colbert, you do not want to be under her eye."

Brad notices the shudder that runs through his frame at the thought. It intrigues him. _What can the king mean about his mother?_

-0-

 

When Brad meets Coligny he cannot help his curiosity. This is the man who Catherine fears more than any other. The man who has gained the king's love. The Protestant leader of France.

Godfather makes the introductions. Brad notes that they know each other very well. Ferrando probably works with the admiral. It wouldn't surprise him if he was engaged in his dirty work.

"Ferrando, introduce me please."

"This is Lord Brad Colbert. He and his team did wonders in Flanders and the Netherlands. I believe it was his team who brought down the dam at Breda, evacuated the beleaguered inhabitants and preserved the entire area from the depredations of the Spaniards. And let us not forget, he saved the king that day at the hunt when he speared that boar. Lord Colbert, this is Gaspard de Coligny, Admiral de France." 

Coligny gives him a once over. "Yes, I have heard of your sterling work for our cause. If only I could have men of your high calibre with us on our new venture."

Brad knows that Coligny and the king plan to send French forces into the Netherlands to aid the beleaguered people once again. A noble but controversial plan with many opponents – including the Queen Mother and de Guise. 

"Your new venture?" he asks, polite as ever.

"I have discussed the plight of the unfortunate Netherlanders, and both Charles and I believe it is France's solemn duty to help alleviate their suffering under the cruel bullying Spanish. We must show our independence from them or risk being submerged into a monstrous Spanish Hapsburg alliance that would destabilise Europe for decades if not centuries. "

Brad wonders whether it is Coligny or the king who speaks. By the sounds of it, this sounds remarkably like Coligny.

"I can't help but wonder at his Majesty's stance on this one. He is a devout Roman Catholic, I believe. Everyone knows that the majority of the country are fiercely Catholic as well. This cannot be a popular move on his part. Noble, but not popular." He remarks.

Coligny's severe mouth cracks into an ironic smile. It sets off Brad's warning signals at once. "The King is an enlightened man. He understands the value of religious tolerance, Lord Colbert."

"But does the rest of the country agree with him? Does de Guise?"

"What is your concern with de Guise?" he says sharply.

"May I be frank with you, Admiral?" he asks, at a nod from Godfather.

"Yes, Lord Colbert?"

"Godfather and his partner Lord Walsingham have many concerns about de Guise and his activities abroad. We believe he is involved in an ongoing plot to harm our mistress Elizabeth. We have been asked to discreetly make some enquiries-"

Coligny gives him and Godfather a shrewd look. "'Asked to make some discreet inquiries?'" he quotes Brad with an ironical edge to his voice. "You mean you are spies, Lord Colbert?"

Brad stands his ground. "We are merely aiding Sir Francis. On a purely informal level."

Coligny meets Brad's eyes, but he gives nothing away.

"What business is it of mine what you do?" Coligny shrugs. "You are on my side, you work for my interests, Lord Ferrando assures me. If you wish to meddle in affairs above your station, that is your own affair. As long as you do not interfere in mine-"

*

"His Majesty talks very highly of Monsieur de Coligny. I was just curious whether the feeling was reciprocated, Lord Ferrando."

Godfather gives him a little complacent smile. "I daresay he's fond of him in his own way. Charles is easily malleable and always has been."

"He calls him 'Father'?" Brad can't help but think this seems a rather one sided relationship.

Godfather leans forwards on his desk, fixing Brad with those penetrating blue eyes. "Coligny is a man of the world. He is loyal to the king as far as his faith allows him. But you must know how the Huguenot mind works, especially when the movement has become so radicalised under religious pressure. To their mind, monarchs forfeit their rights and abdicate their worldly power when they disobey God, according to their interpretation."

"Quite a change from the belief in the divine right of Kings." _A veritable charter for rebellion. This is going to make our lives harder here._

"Where Coligny goes wrong is that he flaunts his power over the king and makes himself needless enemies."

"Enemies like the Queen Mother and de Guise-"

Godfather looks amused, pleased that Brad grasps the essentials so quickly. "It was different when we discreetly arranged financing from Basle and Strasbourg for the cause. Coligny was not so bold then-"

This financing from abroad has potential to be an explosive issue especially when he's seen the tension springing up in the city. Brad wonders whether it's wise to be involved, but since when have Command considered that before acting?

"Funds for the civil war. But he is obsessed with this bitter feud between de Guise and Montmorency. Coligny is in danger of losing his grip on the situation. We will not make the same mistakes, Brad."

"Is it really our place to interfere with politics? We are not French-"

Godfather gives him a grim little smile. "Yes, when our actions will have implications down the line. Then Ferrando believes we have every right to interfere. Indeed, it is our Christian duty. Remember Lord Colbert, everything is interconnected."

 

When Catherine lets her favourite son into her office that afternoon, his face is flushed in anger. She gets up to stroke his hair, but he shrugs her off.

"My child, what is wrong? You're so irritable." she says with her smoothest smile. "You know you can confide in me any time, don't you darling?"

He pouts as he collapses in the plush chair opposite hers and puts his feet up on the table.

"What troubles you, Alexandre?"

He's still sulking, lower lip pushed out in childish petulance. "I want a drink."

Catherine frowns, the grooves deepening between her nose and the corners of her thin mouth. It's a couple of hours before lunch, far too early to starting a drunken debauch."Do you think that's wise, my son?-" she starts mildly. 

He looks up at her, a petulant challenge in those dark eyes. "Are you going to deny me?" he retorts.

Silently, she gets up and pours the wine into a chased silver goblet. Both know she has never been able to deny him anything. Not her favourite.

"Please tell me what worries you. It upsets me to see you like this."

He relents a little, turning to his mother. "Charles is furious with me, after the hunt. I knew Alençon would make a mess of it. He shot the horse, but the king was saved."

"Saved?" she says sharply, the lines to the corner of her mouth deepening. "Saved by who?"

Anjou takes a long draught of the rich dark red wine which stains his mouth. "Lord Colbert. He speared the boar right there, him and Henri de Navarre." he sulks, brooding on his brother's folly."I cannot believe he failed, Maman! Charles was right there. All he had to do is shoot!"

Catherine is wary of the foreigners. She doesn't trust Sir Francis Walsingham, or any of his team one inch. Not sweet innocent Lord Hasser. Not Lord Ferrando, clever and brutal, always with a finger in every pie. And certainly not Brad Colbert watching them all with those ice cold eyes, glacial and beautiful like an archangel sent down to judge them all for their sins."Why did he do it?"

Anjou is all impatience. "Who knows? Charles called Alençon in to account for his behaviour, and of course he grassed me up. To save his own neck. He would!"

"I knew it. I should have got you to do it, not him." she frets.

"I would not have missed, I assure you. But if I had, Charles would have me clapped in the Châtelet so fast-"

She gives him a mocking laugh and another rumple of his dark curls. Slowly, he allows himself to preen under her touch, mollified by her affection. "He would not dare to touch you! Charles is weak and worse than a fool. He scarcely has a mind of his own."

"He knows I am a threat to him, and if he hasn't worked it out then I'm sure Coligny will have told him. Charles listens to whatever that man says. He calls him father to our faces. How shall we endure this?"

"You know the trouble with you, my dear boy is that you are far too impatient. If you want to triumph over him you're going to have to learn to be far more strategic." Catherine says with a wickedly serene gleam in her dark eyes. "All the same, it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on the foreigners."

"The foreigners, Maman? What have they got to do with it?"

Catherine's mean smile broadens. "Trust me on this one, Anjou. They have everything to do with this."


	10. The Esquadron Volant

The two ladies curtsey low as Catherine enters the room .

"Your Majesty-" they murmur in chorus.

Catherine sits down behind the polished wood of her desk and leans forward, steepling her hands. By the determined set of her narrow mouth, she means business."Ladies, I'm glad you both answered my summons so promptly. I have work for both of you?"

"Of course, Ma'am." Charlotte says, eyes cast demurely down.

"Madame de Sauve, if you would read the file please."

She picks it up and starts scanning rapidly through the Queen Mother's copious notes.

"You want me to seduce Henri de Navarre? At his wedding to your daughter?"

"We need a certain amount of power over him. A bit of leverage. The quickest way is if one of you does it, before he takes it into his head to find himself a mistress of his own. I know for a fact my daughter Margot is so infatuated with de Guise and her other lovers she will not give him up, marriage or not. Play your cards right and you can be his lover, his confidant. Are you up to the assignment?"

Charlotte inclines her head. "Of course, your Majesty. Your wish is my command."

"What about my assignment?"

Catherine's smile widens unpleasantly as she looks at her other agent. "Ah yes, Anne-Marie. I hadn't forgotten about you. I want you to infiltrate our English contingent. Find out what you can about them, why they're really here. I'd wager my pearls Sir Francis Walsingham is up to something more than mere negotiations, and I'd like to know what that is. I want you to get close to his entourage, see if you can get one of those delectable boys talking."

Anne-Marie smiles smugly. _This is exactly the kind of assignment she likes and what better way to put her rival Charlotte's nose firmly out of joint. She has to cosy up to the unprepossessing Henri de Navarre, whereas looking at Walsingham's entourage and their appearance in the Garden that fateful day, they were quite the handsome bunch. Sir Brad Colbert with his impressive height and those golden good looks. Sir Walter Hasser's sweet innocent smile and big blue eyes. No wonder Margot is so taken with him._

 _This is a job that will be no hardship at all._ Anne-Marie briefly wonders how swiftly she can attract them into her bed. How long before she can weave her spell on both of them.

Charlotte looks outraged, her dark eyes snapping with rage at her rival's good fortune."How come she gets them and I get Henri? That's hardly fair!" 

"Are you displeased with your assignment, Madame de Sauve?" Catherine asks in a deadly polite tone.

Her lower lip juts out sulkily. "No, your Majesty."

"Good." She says crisply. "You don't have much time to waste before the wedding. I will expect full progress reports every two days. Failure is not an option, not when there is so much at stake."

* * *

It's a couple of days later when Charlotte catches up with Anne-Marie.'So how far are you getting on with your mark, Anne-Marie?'

She narrows her eyes at Charlotte's smug complacent tone. _Please God, don't let her have succeeded! I'll never hear the end of it from the smug bitch!_ 'As well as can be expected, Charlotte.'

She's not cowed by Anne-Marie's crushing tone of voice. 'Really? Am I to take it you've made no progress at all?'

'Go away. Your twittering is giving me a headache.'

'Of course, Henri and I are getting on famously. He definitely wants me.' Charlotte's bold insolent eyes look her up and down. That was a definite taunt, thinks Anne-Marie with a flash of irritation like a stone in her slipper. She aims to provoke me into a fight. 'Whereas as far as I can see, Brad Colbert takes no more notice of you than the statues in the garden. There's no need to hide it from me, Anne-Marie. It's just not happening.'

'I'm working on him!' Anne-Marie's blue eyes flash with annoyance.

'Trouble is, Anne-Marie, you just don't have time. The Queen Mother wants her report and she will be most displeased if you haven't made any progress.'

Anne-Marie glares at her rival. 'It's none of your business!'

'Such a shame-' Charlotte gives a languid, confident stretch, preening like a satisfied cat. 'Brad Colbert is as beautiful as an angel-'

'Isn't he just?' Henriette, her friend Madeleine and a couple of ladies in waiting saunter up and sit down, interrupting the conversation.

'Henriette, dear-' Anne–Marie greets her with an insincere smile pasted on her face.Personally she cannot see what her brother sees in the woman, but she's family by marriage, and she has Margot's ear, so it's worth keeping her onside. 

'I thought Henri de Guise was one of the most beautiful men in the kingdom but the foreigner far outshines him. It's got to put poor Henri's nose out of joint.' Gillone says quite excitedly.

'I'd give half my diamonds for one torrid night with him, and it'd be completely worth it. So tall, stern and handsome.' giggles Elise Blondet de Gallais.

'Like an avenging archangel-' Madeleine de Rochechouart sighs.

'No archangel ever had a body like that.' Reneé de Chateauneuf says with a lustful gleam in her eyes.

'I know! When he killed that boar and saved his Majesty, I just wanted to jump him right there and then. Oh God, you have no idea how much I want that man!' 

'You and everybody else, my dear Elise!' Henriette grins.

'See? Don't feel bad, Anne-Marie.' Madeleine says kindly. 'He's not snubbing you personally.'

"I wonder if he has a sweetheart at home." muses Henriette, chin propped up on her hand. 'Some English rose he's pining for?'

"I still think you're not trying hard enough, Anne-Marie." Charlotte says airily.

'You think you can do better, do you?'

Charlotte gleams with beauty and self-confidence. Anne-Marie has never despised her more.'Yes, I do actually.'

'Those are fighting words there.' Henriette smirks as if she is pulling up a pew at a cockfight.

'I bet you a thousand crowns I can lure Brad Colbert into bed and have him madly in love with me. In a fortnight too.'

Anne-Marie's de Guise pride is stung. 'I bet you two thousand crowns I'll have swived him and taken his heart before you do. When I've finished with him he wouldn't even look at you!'

Charlotte laughs mockingly. 'You're confident! Is that a wager, Anne-Marie?'

The two women stare at each other, taking the measure of her rival.

'Done.'

'Done.' They shake on the deal.

 

Anne-Marie is furious after Charlotte saunters off, smirking about her victory.

'Who does that arrogant slut think she is?' she fumes.

'Ignore her. She's just doing it to get a rise out of you.' Madeleine reassures her, eager to get on her good graces.

'She's got Henri de Navarre. Queen Catherine gave her that assignment herself. But oh no! A king isn't enough for her. She wants Sir Brad as well as a notch on her bedpost. Well, she will not have him, I swear it!'

'Are you really so confident you'll get him?' asks Henriette with a gleam of curiosity in her dark eyes.

Anne-Marie's eyes flash dangerously.'Of course I will. There is no question about it.'

'What if this is a job for 'Les Mignons'? What if he's not that interested in women?'

'Don't say things like that!' Elise wails. 'I don't want to hear he's out of reach, it spoils the fantasy!'

'What? Do you know something I don't?' asks Anne-Marie. 

'No, no, not at all.' She hesitates as Anne-Marie gives her such an evil look, Henriette is convinced she would cut her in an alleyway for an ecù, sister in law or not. 'I just happened to notice-'

'What? Do not leave me in suspense, Henriette!' Anne-Marie practically shrieks.

'Well, he seemed very taken with Nate-' she mumbles, as if ashamed by spilling a confidence.

Anne-Marie leans forward, very interested.'Nate?'

'You know, the musician Margot is so fond of. Won't go anywhere without him. Very pretty lad, with those striking green eyes and that glorious tenor voice, like cream and honey.'

'Nate? He's so kind. He teaches me singing and lute sometimes.' adds Madeleine innocently. '-and he always listens if I'm sad, or have a problem. I can't think why he hasn't got a sweetheart.'

Anne-Marie recollects him now. _The pet of all the ladies-in-waiting. Margot's troubadour with the voice of an angel, and the looks of one too. Charming to a fault. And yet, she has never yet heard of any romantic intrigue involving him. Either he is very good at keeping his private life exactly that, or he really isn't interested in any of them._ She resolves to think about it later. _There may be something more to this than meets the eye._

'Really? Well that's my plan of attack. I befriend Nate to get to Brad and then when his defences are down, that's when I'll strike. Now if you'll excuse me ladies, I have a strategy to plan and two thousand crowns to win-' 

She sweeps off in her gold and cream brocade dress, which echoes the golden lights in her strawberry-blonde hair.

 

'Who do you think will win Sir Brad? Charlotte or Anne?' asks Madeleine.

Henriette is thoughtful, all playfulness gone. 'I'm not so sure that either of them will succeed. Charlotte is too confident of her charms. I mean, how does he appear to you, Madeleine?'

The girl considers. 'Polite but distant. Preoccupied.'

'Exactly.' says Henriette with a satisfied smile. 'Imagine how a man like that will react to Charlotte throwing herself at him eager to win him from Anne-Marie.' 

'He won't react well?'

'Very Good, Madeleine. She'll irritate him to distraction.'

'What about Anne-Marie? She's very determined to win and she doesn't want to displease the Queen Mother. She can't afford to with rivals like Charlotte and Renée snapping at her heels.'

Henriette leans forward conspiratorially. 'Between you and me-' she says. 'I think she has less chance than Charlotte. If I were you, I'd quietly put your money on both of them failing and collect your winnings on the sly when the time comes.'

Henriette sees a flash of something, longing or hope in Madeleine's blue eyes and she impulsively makes a decision. _After all, Charlotte, Margot and Anne-Marie aren't the only beauties at the French court. At least Madeleine would not chase Lord Colbert out of ambition and self-interest. In fact, she is probably the safest person to be assigned to them. Innocent, beautifu and harmless, this way she can play off one interest against the other most skilfully. Margot will be pleased how things have worked out!_

_Why not?_ she tells herself. _Madeleine's family is one of the most prestigious in France. She's a gorgeous girl with her masses of golden waves and big blue eyes. Sweet, naïve and eager to please. If she plays her cards right, plays a more subtle game than the others, why shouldn't he look at her instead?_

'Do you want Lord Colbert?'

She nods, her eyes shining. 'Oh yes, Henriette!'

'Listen to me. There's no reason why you couldn't win him for yourself, is there?' 

'But Henriette, wouldn't that be stepping on Anne-Marie's toes?' Madeleines says somewhat timidly.

'So?'

Madeleine blushes. 'To be honest, I'm a bit scared of her. I wouldn't want to make her an enemy. And what of the Queen Mother?'

'Do you want him, or don't you?' Henriette snaps in sheer impatience.

Madeleine looks at her with those huge blue eyes.'Yes-' she breathes, her eyes shining and radiant. "I don't know. I would like to get to know him."

Henriette links the girl's arm in hers and gives her a winning smile. 'Stick with me, my lass and you won't go far wrong.'


	11. The Apothecary

Brad opens the door of the apothecary and waits. There's no one behind the counter at the moment so he looks round, taking in the surroundings. The strong musky scent of ingredients, mysterious things floating in jars of preservative, the neat serried rows of jars, mortars and pestles and scores upon scores of books. A lifetime of arcane knowledge and learning. He tries to read some of the book spines that are visible: Herbes that kill, Herbes that heal, The Compleat Apothecary, Poisons and Antidotes: A Compendium.  
A small shuffling man with thinning mousy-brown hair and a battered pair of wire rimmed spectacles perched on his nose appears from a back room and hastily greets him. This must be the contact: Padre Tolomeo, thinks Brad.

 

'Padre Tolomeo at your service'. His voice is no more than a reedy whisper. 'If you would like to follow me into the back room, Lord Colbert. Sir Francis told me to expect you.'  
He brushes past him as he turns the sign to closed and bolts the door. ‘I don’t want to be disturbed, especially since what we are going to discuss is so sensitive.’

‘Sir Francis sent me to you. He said you have expert knowledge of poisons.’

‘Lord Colbert, may I be candid with you?’

Brad nods. ‘You may. Please, Padre-‘

‘We are on very dangerous ground here. I have to be sure that anything I tell you will be kept in the strictest confidence.’

‘I know how to keep a secret, Padre.’

The man looks at him with grudging approval. ‘Good. Come into my storeroom and we shall talk at length in there.’

*

The storeroom is a small airless room, lined with ingredients and dusty tomes. Brad can’t help but feel a twinge of claustrophobia in the confined space.

‘What did you want to know, Lord Colbert?’

‘I have been asked to investigate a plot against Queen Elizabeth. Conspirators sent by the Jesuits and the de Guise family to harm her. I hear of a new poison which is undetectable and hard to find antidotes for which they plan to use.’

‘Yes.’ Padre Tolomeo says. ‘Do you know anything else, sir?’

‘I am no expert in toxicology; I was hoping you could shed some more light on the matter. I would like to know what we are up against.’

‘There are many methods they could use apart from the obvious, like food and drink. You know the story of Jeanne d’Albret?’

‘The poisoned gloves alleged to have been sent from Catherine de’ Medici-‘

Padre Tolomeo looks around apprehensive as a sparrow sensing a predator, despite his precautions at security. Brad thinks he looks truly frightened, enough to know something concrete which he may tell him once he feels more secure.

‘’Tis only hearsay, Sir. You must be very careful about which circles you express such an opinion.’

‘What else?’

‘Bouquets, items of clothing, handkerchiefs, cosmetics. As fast as we come up with antidotes, the Italians are coming up with new, more sophisticated and fiendish products. They are the world leaders in the field and it is big business there.’

‘How hard is it to tell if something has been doctored?’ Brad asks. ‘I mean, you’d notice if something was stained with product, would you not?’

‘Let me show you something, my lord.’ He slips on a pair of thick leather gauntlets before taking two ribbons out of a drawer with a pair of tongs. Brad wonders at the precautions but says nothing for now.

‘Tell me, Lord Colbert; which one do you think has been treated with poison?’

Brad looks at the brightly coloured ribbons. There’s little difference between the two, just a slight difference in colour. So slight it would take a highly trained eye to discern the divergence.

He moves to point at the duller green ribbon.

‘Lord Colbert, do not touch it, I beg you! I do not exaggerate when I say that there is enough poison in one of those ribbons to kill three people if it makes contact with exposed skin.’

‘That one.’

Padre Tolomeo cracks a grim smile that splits his wrinkled visage. “Very well observed, Lord Colbert but you would be wrong.” He takes up the brighter ribbon with a pair of tongs and throws it neatly into the fire. Brad stares as the fire turns green for a couple of seconds and gives off black acrid smoke.

“Now do you what we are up against? This is one of my countryman René’s latest concoctions.”

“Dear God-” Brad mutters, fascinated by his glimpse into the challenges set by the new direction of the investigation.

“It has to look innocuous. Untraceable you see.” He douses the fire, though the sweet slightly acrid scent of the poison still lingers in the fireplace. “Tell me more about your case, sir.”

‘We found a conspirator who claims he was put up to it by the Jesuits. He had the de Guise seal and a wealth of French gold.’

‘He had poison on him?’ Padre Tolomeo sounds surprised as he turns from the hearth.

“No. He claimed that poison was the next step if they didn’t succeed. Naturally, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth takes this very seriously.’

“Well, I’ll keep my ears close to the ground though I cannot prove anything.”

“What about this René? You said the ribbon was one of his works.”

Padre Tolomeo looks grave. “Ah, well. You may find it more difficult to bring Master René to justice. It seems he is Catherine’s personal cosmetician and under her protection.”

“Under her protection?” Brad picks up the words at once. “Does that mean he works for her? Under her instructions?”

The apothecary clutches his arm in terror.‘You must not say this in public, not even as a jest. I am deadly serious. Her crimes are widely known, but few dare oppose her. ‘Tis dangerous to do so openly.’

‘Are there any that dare? Surely the whole of France cannot be terrified by this woman?’  
Padre Tolomeo fidgets. ‘Gaspard de Coligny accuses her of every crime in the book. It is well known that of he didn’t have the good favour and love of the king, he would be dead a long time ago.’

* * *

Godfather and Espera are nearly ready to go on their mission. Brad has to admit to a certain amount of professional jealousy. At least Poke gets to actually get some investigating done, rather than spend his time dallying at court. Getting entangled in the intrigues and petty games of court.

"Have you made contact with 'Piéta' yet?"

"We will once we get to the Jesuit stronghold. He’s ready to talk , but we have to do it under the guise of Confession. It's quite a coup us getting someone like him, willing to talk to us about the Jesuit's activities." Sir Francis says.

"Well, report back to us as soon as possible. We need to start wrapping this up, especially with Queen Elizabeth breathing down our necks." Brad tells him.

"If she wants results, she's going to have to wait for them. We can't do anything until we have the information we seek. It pains me to have to say this, but Trombley's efforts at the hunt that day actually came in useful. We know De Guise and his brother are planning something. We just need details.”

Brad’s mouth curves into an ironic smile. "Is that the sound of you eating humble pie, Espera? I never thought I'd see the day."

"All right, all right. Don't push it." he says good naturedly. "I know I had my misgivings about the lad when he first started the mission. But I 'm happy to admit so far he's proved not to be a complete fuck up."

 

Espera goes to his first meeting with 'Piéta' that night. As he enters the confession booth, he wonders not for the first time who it is he's actually talking to. All his encounters with their agent haven't been face to face, just a disembodied voice on the other side of a grille.   
By Godfather's account this person is quite high up in the Jesuit structure, and yet they're prepared to feed them information and turn traitor. He wonders how on earth Lord Walsingham and Godfather managed to recruit them to their cause.

"Good evening my child, are you ready to confess your sins and seek the forgiveness of Christ?" the contact says aloud for the benefit of any people in earshot.

"Yes, Father." He leans towards the grille as soon as the coast is clear. "What have you got for me?"

There is a pause as the unseen agent gathers their thoughts. "What is it you want to know?"

"The attempt on Elizabeth's life. Are your people involved?"

"Which one?" comes the reply.

"Symond Funteyn, you know of whom I speak."

The voice chuckles rather nastily. "The failure."

Espera has to smile in amusement at that one. "He was lucky enough to be caught by our men before any damage was done."

“I fear that it’s a matter of opinion, my son, but never mind that now.”

"Very unlike the Jesuits to do such a half-hearted job. Funteyn was barely briefed, before being sent out on his mission. He claimed he was recruited under duress."

The agent deliberates. "There was some disagreement as how the whole affair was going to be handled, to put it tactfully."

"Was this a commission?" Espera asks boldly.

“From whom?"

"The de Guise family. We know they are great patrons of the order. We know they are devout Catholics. Is this all their idea?"

"What do you think, my son?"

_He’s warm, he knows that. This agent likes to make him work for his scoops._ Espera considers the little information the agent has given him, tries to mould the disparate strands of information into one plausible theory . "You and the order didn't want this assignment. It was done half-heartedly on purpose. Why?"

"You're close. Carry on.” says the voice. Espera fancies that it sounds amused.

"There was some dissent within the ranks as to how the plot was going to work. There were many in the organisation who didn't want it to succeed. So it was done shoddily, so Funteyn would take the blame for incompetence rather than the Jesuits."

"Very Good." says the voice approvingly. "What other conclusion can you come up with?"

"I'm still trying to work out why the organisation balked at the conspiracy. It’s not as if the order has had any problems getting their hands dirty." 

“Now, that’s no mystery. We are his Majesty’s humble servants. We cannot go against his will.”

Espera is interested in this. _Perhaps the situation is a great deal more complicated than the team first thought. Brad won’t be happy._

“His Majesty knows about this? He doesn’t want the de Guise clan to carry out this plan? They are acting against his wishes?”

“When someone has two masters we must attempt to serve them as best we can.” The voice says serenely as ever. “Now I must leave. I have little time left to devote to you and none must know of the information I have passed through this grille. You had better be good at keeping secrets, my son.”

_What a tangled web we have managed to get ourselves involved in!_ thinks Espera, exiting the confession booth with no little relief. _I must report back to the team as soon as possible._

* * *

At the Palace

 

Charles looks troubled as he stares into the fire.   
"The de Guise family are over mighty. I have known it for a long time. They have tried to destabilise my reign so they they are in a prime position to take over as first family of France."

"You believe that your family's position is precarious? But sire, you are king and you have heirs?"

"Heirs that I cannot trust. Anjou is ruthless in his ambition. Encouraged by my mother he will not rest until my crown lies on his head. It has always been so, since we were children even before I ascended to the throne. I know you have suspicions of them."

Brad is left in no doubt that Charles knows about their mission here. He wonders how he found out. _Perhaps the team are under surveillance by agents of the French court. He wonders why the king has played his hand and subtly let the team be aware of his knowledge. Can they trust him to keep his knowledge of their aims to himself?_

*

Margot approaches the foundry with Nate. A column of smoke issues from the chimney floating away on the sparse breeze.

"You don't think that he's going to be in a bad mood, do you?" Nate asks. "Because I can come with you if you think-"

She shakes her head. "No, I've got to speak to him myself. Thank you, though." she gives him a tentative smile. "I'll join you for lunch if I can persuade him to stop working."

"What is he doing? I don't know how he can bear to work in a forge in this weather?

Margot sighs. "He's troubled."  
Nate doesn't say anything, just squeezes her hand.

 

She opens the door of the forge, and peers round the corner.

"If you're coming in, then put on a mask and shut the door." she hears her brother shout.

She straps on the iron mask which covers her face completely, donning the thick leather gloves to protect her hands from stray sparks. She knows that Charles is very strict about people disturbing him when he is at work.

"Charlot? Brother?"

He gives her a nod as he hammers the red hot iron into shape, swinging the hammer in an inexorable rhythm. 

"I wanted to talk to you, my lord." she says to the whipcord slim muscles of his back covered with soot and sweat. His hair pulled back into a tail is soaked with sweat and clinging to the sweat of his back.

He turns towards her, although he doesn't put down his tools."I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you. "

"I'm glad. I don't like it when we fight, Margot."

"How long have you been here?” she asks, sweat running down from under the mask. _How can he bear to work in such conditions? The forge feels as hot as one of the circles of hell. Especially in this weather, in the height of summer. Charles isn't strong, why is he doing this to himself? Wearing himself out like it was some mad cruel penance he'd been assigned?_

"Since early this morning. I needed to get away from the palace."

She reaches for him, concerned. "All that time? You're not over working yourself, are you Charlot?"

"Don't fuss!" he says crossly. As he plunges the sword into the cool water to season it, it gives off a hiss as the metal cools.

"At least have a drink. Make sure you don't get too parched."

"You're mollycoddling again-" he warns.

"Promise me-" she insists, holding out a flask of liquid to him.

He pulls off his mask and takes a long draught, the muscles working in his long slim throat. 

“Is that better?"

He gives a sigh. "What did you want?" 

"I'm worried about you, dear brother."

"Why?" 

"You work here in the stifling heat, losing yourself in manual labour."

"Thank you for your concern but you don't really need to worry about me, Margot." He interrupts.

"At least come and have some lunch. I brought a picnic."

"You didn't come here alone, did you?"

"Oh no, I brought Nate with me. If you don't mind.

He sighs, putting out the fire. "Very well. I'll join you."

She smiles. "Thank you."

 

She spreads out the food and they sit informally on the grass, without ceremony. Charles notices how how intimate she is with Nate. How she leans against him, the secret little touches they share when they think they are unobserved. Well, he'd always known that she had feelings for the lad. They were inseperable. _She still has feelings for him. The relationship is still going on,_ he realises.

Charles observes the couple as they sit together. She lies with her head in Nate's lap looking up into the nearly cloudless sky. Nate’s hand idly strokes her silken hair as it streams over his lap out of sheer affectionate habit. She relaxes under his caresses exactly like her puppy would, with that same innocent sensuality.

"It is good to see you both so happy in each other's company. Of course you haven't long, so I suppose you will want to take full advantage of the privacy you have."

Nate understands what the king says subtly. _The wedding is coming and Henri de Navarre is less likely to be so understanding about his new wife and her friendships with other men._ He wonders what the courtiers have told him, keen to speculate and gossip about everyone. Nate is under no illusion that many at court know about his relationship with the princess though no one has dared to comment to his face. _Margot is hardly discreet in her pursuit of him and during their time together there have been times where they have been reckless, caught up in their passion for each other._

"Please, it's such a pleasant day. Must we spend it talking about things that are so unpleasant, dear brother?" she gets up to refill their glasses with the cool white wine. “Come drink, ‘tis a good vintage.”

What worries Nate is that she doesn't want to face reality. _They both know what is coming, that they must be parted. They can never be as close as they once were._

"Sire?" he asks as she sits apart from them, idly making a daisy chain from the buttercups that dot the grass.

"Do you think I am cruel? To ask her to marry Henri de Navarre?" Charles says, abrupt as always.

Nate doesn't know what to say. He fidgets under that clear penetrating gaze.

"I know you both care for each other and I thank you for bringing my dear sister back from the brink of despair. But I need religious stability and her union to Henri will achieve that I'm sure of it."

Nate is not so sure. He has first hand knowledge of just how stubborn the lady can be when she puts her mind to it.

"What does the lady think?" he merely remarks.

Charles frowns. "I know she is unhappy, and God knows I would spare her pain if I could. But I have little choice. I have to do my best for her. Can she not see that?” He turns to Nate, earnest in his desire to make him see his point of view. "Can you not persuade her to do her duty? Help me to save my kingdom?"

Nate doesn't know what to say. He dares not lie to the king."Sire, I don't wish to offend you but you cannot ask me to do that."

"Do you still love her?" Charles asks him candidly.

Nate isn't sure of how to respond to that.

“You do, don’t you. I get it now.”

Margot skips up, eager to change the subject. She drapes a linked crown of buttercups on both their heads giving them a playful smile.

“Marguerite, what is this?”

She smiles at him. “Just a bit of fun, my dearest brother-“ She smiles at Charles winningly. “My best friend-“ she says turning to Nate and laying a kiss in the open hollow of his palm. He feels her words against his skin, just a caress. “My heart’s desire.” She whispers.

* * *

Henri, Sir Francis and Brad go to the deserted chapel on the edge of the forest. The summer light shines through the trees bathing the area in cool verdant light.

"No one really uses it, and it will give us some much needed privacy to discuss things."

"De Guise would not have got this far without tacit approval for his antics. If you gentlemen are investigating de Guise, you will need to consider that."

"Whose approval?" asks Sir Francis, though Brad can take an educated guess at the identity of the shadowy superior who condones de Guise’s traitorous plots against Elizabeth and Charles.

“Catherine’s made a weapon to belabour her son with, but now she finds it stings her own back.”

_So there was a possibility that de Guise was acting under Catherine’s orders. Or at least with her tacit approval._ Brad marvels at her hypocrisy, welcoming them to court.  
“Why would she want to undermine her own son? Charles presses for religious tolerance. Sir Francis is here to negotiate a settlement between our mistress Elizabeth and Alençon.”

“-Alençon?” Henri looks alarmed. “Elizabeth cannot want Alençon to be king of England?”

“The realm needs a king. He is of royal descent-”

“Not him. Anyone but him!”Henri de Bourbom says with an unaccustomed firmness, at odds with his happy-go-lucky persona.

“Why are you so adamant that he should never marry her? He is of royal blood. An official alliance with France would be most beneficial to both parties-”

“You don’t understand. Alençon is a sneaky unprincipled wretch. I would not trust the boy as far as I could throw him. If you have any loyalty to your queen I would discourage her from such a rash action.”

“You’re very vehement about this.”

“He cannot be trusted. All the Valois are inherently selfish; it’s in their nature. Every single one of them would sell you up the river to save their own hides, but Alençon-“ he shakes his head. “Hercule is a very bitter individual. You see he is bent and twisted. He was not always so. Once he was a healthy child with promising looks.”

“What happened?”

“He contracted an illness which stunted his growth and pitted his face. Catherine bullies and mocks him for her own amusement. It twisted and blighted his soul. I recollect when Margot and I were children he would pretend to be her friend; play upon her tender heart, and she would try and protect him from the worst of her mother’s excesses of cruelty. He repaid her by betraying her secrets to her mother.”

Brad finds this interesting, particularly the part about the princess’s tender heart. “So you have known your wife to be since childhood?”

“Of course, I was brought up at court in the proper noble manner. As was de Guise. We were all brought up together, touring the royal palaces or down at the royal nursery at Amboise.”

“What do you think of her, your Grace?” He cannot help but ask with a certain amount of curiosity.

“Margot?” Henri’s smile is nothing but cynical. “I do not deny she has grown to be a beauty. I mean you have seen the girl, haven’t you? And intelligent, too.”

“Intelligent?” In all honesty Brad had wondered whether it had been a pose. The books with notes in the margin. The volumes of poetry and languages she regularly had her nose in. Her borrowing of Nate’s books.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Lord Colbert. That girl used to beat me in every single test. Her and that troubadour of hers, top of the class every time. Don’t underestimate her. She has a great intellect when she elects to use it.”

_So he knows Nate, however briefly._ He starts from Henri’s casual phrase to get a picture of Nate’s upbringing at court. _Tolerated for his astonishing musical gifts and intelligence, but ignored by the spoilt aristocratic children who looked down on him for not quite having the right bloodline . An echo of Nate’s bitterness by the lake: ‘Some de Guises are better than others.’ Except for Margot and her attachment to him. Brad hadn’t realised how precarious Nate’s position was here, or the closeness of the two._

“You knew Nate Fick?”

“That’s the lad’s name.” Henri slaps his head in remembrance. “I knew I would have trouble remembering it! Is he still here then?”

“Yes-“

Henri muses. “I’m surprised. Lad like that, so gifted and talented could have made a fortune in Italy, or some exotic foreign court. I wonder why he never left.”

Brad knows why. _Because Nate was impelled to do Sir Francis’s dirty work for him._

 

“Let’s see who’s beaten us to the punch-“ Sir Francis remarks with a dry smile. The heavy yew door of the chapel creaks open. They can see de Condé in the dusty pews, breeches down with a woman bent over the back of the pew. They’re making so much noise neither notice they’re being observed. 

Brad catches a glimpse of shining strawberry blonde hair. The shade of it reminds him of the ruddy golds of Nate’s hair. He has a good clue as to the identity of Condé’s illicit lover. Anne-Marie de Guise.

“He might as well have put his prick in a vice. It would have been safer.” He remarks.  
The team withdraw hastily to the deserted foyer.

 

“Dirty bastard. And to think he was adamant warning me about the licentiousness of the court maids and how I must not be lured into temptation.” Henri mutters in a voice both scandalised and entertained by the sight of his adviser arse-bare ploughing into some ‘jolie-fille’.

“Oh, I believe they are enjoying themselves tolerably well, my lord. Just watch out for any inexplicable changes in policy. Now she’s got her claws into him sexually, the next step will be to blackmail and influence him to her mistress’s will. By extension, you as well.”


	12. At the Hôtel de Guise

"What we need to do is get ourselves invited to the Hôtel de Guise, see if we can't find some evidence at their home." Sir Francis muses.

"How is this going to happen? Henri de Guise can't stand us and can't stand Nate either. He's hardly going to invite us into his home. Let alone give us free reign of his house?"

Nate says quietly. "I've been there more than once. With my mistress."

"She goes to the Hôtel de Guise?" Sir Francis says in surprise.

"Yes, she's close friends with Henriette de Nevers. They often go there for a long weekend."

Sir Francis's eyes gleam at the opportunity. "She'd take you with her? If you hinted-"

"There would be a certain set of circumstances involved-". He sounds reluctant to divulge any further information, though Sir Francis seems to understand. Brad’s suspicions are roused.

"Well then make sure she takes you with her. Get Henriette to invite one of the team to back you up. This is dynamite. Right into the lair of the de Guise family, unlimited access if we play our cards right."

"Would Henriette do it?" asks Walt with a doubtful crease of his brow. “Let us into the inner sanctum?”

"This is where Ray would come in. You can butter her up, can't you?" 

Ray gives the rest of the team a smirk. “I can try.”

“Do it. She seems to like you and she’s been more than helpful so far. We just want to have a good scout round and see what we can unearth at their headquarters. It’s the ideal reconaissance mission. Right in the heart of enemy territory.”

 

When Nate next sees his mistress Margot he knows he needs to subtly suggest a weekend away at the Hôtel de Guise, but frankly he’s reluctant to go there. He knows what’s required of him, but his conscience has picked a fine time to trouble him.

“Nate, you seem distracted.” She remarks after the third dischord as he works on his latest piece on the clavichord. “You’re working too hard again. Come, sit here.”

She moves behind him, massaging his shoulders with practiced hands. He groans as her hands hit a knot of tension.

“You’re as tense as a bow, Nate. What is it?” she says close to his ear, her voice a sultry seduction.

“Things are very overwrought at the palace in the run up to the wedding.” He says, conscious he’s being economical with the truth.

“Tell me about it. So suffocating! I can’t bear it either.” She looks at him slyly, a smile full of sensual promise lingering on her mouth. “It’s about time we had a long weekend away, don’t you think?”

“Do you think we should?” he asks. _It would be ideal for the group and their investigation into de Guise’s plot but he can’t help feeling uneasy._

“Henriette and Claude would love our company. I’m sure I can persuade her to invite us for a long leisurely weekend somewhere nice and discreet, far away from prying eyes. I’m sick of being on display at court. Constantly having to avoid Anjou and Mother. And of course, Nate, it would give us time to be alone. Such precious time-”

“Would you want that?” he asks. 

She merely kisses him in reply, giving him the benefit of her curvy body against his.

“Did she agree to persuade Henriette?” Brad asks at their next meeting.

“Yes, we’re leaving on Friday afternoon, following Mass. I believe Ray’s managed to get himself invited by Henriette.”

“Well done, Master Person. Make sure you focus and bring us some suitable information.” Sir Francis says.

“What were the ‘certain set of circumstances’ you were referring to at the other meeting?” Brad asks Nate curiously.

Nate can feel the blush rising up the column of his neck. “You don’t want to know. Seriously.” He says shortly.

 _That’s just it,_ Brad thinks, _I do want to know. Only too well._

*

Henriette drops in with welcome news for Brad. “Is Ray in?” she asks a cheeky twinkle in her eye the day before their jaunt.

“He’s working.” Brad says sharply, not wanting his assistant to get distracted.

“Never mind, it’s you I wanted to see anyway.” She says airily. “I was wondering whether you’d like to join us on our long weekend actually, Lord Colbert. What do you think?”

“You want me to join you?”

“Well actually it’s Anne-Marie that wants you to join us. Don’t tell anyone but I think she’s got her heart set on luring you to her bed.”

Brad’s nose wrinkles in barely concealed disgust. “Anne-Marie de Guise?”

“You know: very beautiful,long red-gold hair just like Nate's, ambitious, rapacious lady-in-waiting. De Guise’s haughty sister. Persistently putting herself in your path?” Henriette chuckles, seemingly very amused. “You haven’t noticed her, have you? She will be vexed she isn’t even making an impression on you, Lord Colbert.”

“Don’t tell me, this is all about the Esquadron isn’t it?”

“It could be, Lord Colbert.” she hints, with a twinkle in her sloe-dark eyes.

 _That’s as much of a warning as he’s likely to get from Henriette, but he’ll take it._ He still wonders why she wants to help them since she is a de Guise by marriage. _Does this mean she has no loyalty at all? That she is easily bought by Ray’s charm and fine words? Or does she have another agenda, one that the team are going to have to negotiate?_

* * *

At the Hotel de Guise, Paris

When the team arrive at the Hôtel de Guise, they are amazed at the sheer size and opulence of the place. No wonder Catherine de’ Medici is jealous of the de Guise wealth. The family is rolling in money and to an impoverished monarchy the potential for resentment is very high.

“The servants have your rooms all prepared. We’re going to have a picnic at three and perhaps a little music from Nate? Would you mind awfully?”

“Not at all.” Nate says, polite as ever. “As always I am at your service.”  
As they enter the sitting room they meet Princesse Claude who the team remember from the first time they attended court. Brad vaguely remembers what she was introduced as. Duchesse de Lorraine. She’s a de Guise too.

“How lovely to meet you all. Welcome to our humble home.” She says regally as they bend over her hand to pay their respects. He can’t help but think she’s very unlike her sister. Careful, composed, regal. He can’t help but wonder how close they are. _Was she as distant as Elisabeth de Valois from her siblings?_

“Nate, I suppose you’re here with my mischievous sister?” She says greeting him with a familiar kiss on the cheek. 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Where is she?”

“In the garden, playing with that blasted lapdog of hers.”

“I’m always very distrustful of a dog that small. I have no idea what she sees in that vicious little wretch!” She smiles suddenly making her look less grand, more human. “I’m glad to see you, Nate. Don’t leave it so long next time, will you?”

 

Nate’s strumming his lute, playing a few idle chords as he bends over his instrument. His hands press against the strings. The sheer joy in his voice as he lets it loose. That golden stream of sound like a siren’s call, luring the unwary ever closer.

“That was quite something.”

Nate gives Brad a smile as he puts his instrument away. He’s so different away from court. More at ease, almost relaxed. Without the baleful presence of Henri de Guise scowling at Nate, he looks at home here in the grand surroundings of the Hôtel de Guise. _If it wasn’t for that quirk of Fate, this might have been Nate’s home. These might be Nate’s people. He is a de Guise by blood after all. How must he feel? To be at home and yet still an outsider, shut out from his heritage?_

“I aim to please, Lord Colbert. ‘Tis my job after all.”

 

Brad and Nate are in the garden idly conversing under the shade of the marble fountain. The sun is high and blazing overhead, and most sensible people have retired for a noon time siesta. The perfect time to talk in peace.

"What do you want to be?” says Brad, looking up at the cloudless sky. “If you didn't have to be at court, working for Sir Francis, what would you do with your life, if you couldn't fail?"

When Nate next speaks his voice is wistful. "I don't know. I've lived here in this enviroment, at court since I was a child. I can't imagine living out of this world. I suppose I would like to teach someday-"

Brad is so surprised he fails to hide it. Although thinking about it makes perfect sense now. Nate’s love of knowledge, the way he deals with his pupils with patience, kindness and respect. He would be a born teacher. 

"I have had the opportunity to learn so much from the best teachers in the land. I would like to be able to impart that knowledge to a new generation. To be able to study and compose in peace. Sometimes I regret that-“

“You regret what?”

Nate’s voice falls. Brad can’t help feeling honoured that he wants to confide in him. “I regret that things turned out the way they did with my father. I could have been living an entirely different life.”

Brad’s misgivings about Lord Ferrando’s scheme come back in full force. They trained him as their weapon, but he’s only human. What happens when he decides he wants more from life than this dangerous secretive existence?

“I wonder how my life would have turned out if Father had never got involved with Sir Francis. If we had never left Ballykirlan, my home.” 

"You've never had that, have you?" Brad says, understanding him. "A peaceable life." And yet you long for it.

"No, I haven’t."

“Nate-“ Brad starts, not knowing what to say. Perhaps nothing really needs to be said, after all. Just this silent understanding between them. 

“I long for many things. That I can’t have-”,Brad catches his gaze He pulls himself together, as if aware he was on the verge of revealing more than he should have. “Let’s talk of other things, before I indulge in an inappropriate bout of melancholy, and that won’t do.”

 

He was a fool to become so infatuated with the man. Brad is an honourable man. You could see it in every gesture he makes. The integrity with which he engages with the world around him.  
Why on Earth would he even look at someone like me? Someone sullied and tainted by the work he must do for Sir Francis and Godfather. Not for the first time, he starts to feel ashamed of what he does. The path that his father and his masters chose for him when he was little more than a child. 

_Perhaps if I could have lived an honourable life, there would be no shame in-  
No, I can’t allow myself to think like that. To long for what cannot be. That way lies frustration and madness._

_Brad is a hero. What would he want with someone so tainted?_ He asks himself, remembering Anjou’s kisses in the garden. Those greedy wandering hands. The insinuations he’s had to live with for so long.

 _I would not stain him with my sins,_ thinks Nate and turns away though he can’t help one last glance at Brad’s face.

 

“D’ye think the coast is clear, so we can get on with some snooping? Where is Nate?”

Ray looks awkward. Brad decides to have his suspicions out, find out exactly what Nate is hiding from the team.

“Is he with the Princess?” he asks with a suspicious narrowing of those ice blue eyes. “Is she messing round with him too?”

“I knew you were going to overreact.”

Brad is stung by Ray’s astute little quip. “I am not overreacting!”

Walt walks in and sits down. He looks shocked.

“What’s the matter with you, Walt?”

 

He shakes his his head as if still assailed by disbelief."I opened the door. I didn't even mean to do it and they were -"

Brad frowns, mouth pulled into an impatient line. "What were they doing?"

Walt flushes, a wash of scarlet staining his cheeks at the memory, "The house is so big, it's easy to get lost. The door wasn't locked. Maybe they forgot. In their ardour-"

Brad remembers last night where he had retired for bed early, while they had stayed up playing dice for small stakes and discussing the case. 

All at once Brad works out why Nate was so evasive about the requirements for the long weekend at the de Guise house. He could hardly say to the team: I’m here as her stud! He was right to trust his instinct, not to trust the agent further than he could throw him. _How could he bear to allow her to use him so? Does he have no pride? Is it misguided love or sheer lust that drives him to her bed?_

"Hasser, will you stop pussyfooting about and come out with it!"

"I saw Princesse Margot and Nate half asleep. In bed with one another. Making love to one another-" Walt says in a rush.

"I don't get it. I thought she was meant to be sleeping with you." asks Trombley. 

Walt frowns. “So did I. That explains so much about that day we found her in my room.”

“Nate and the Princess, the lad must have a death wish.”

“I opened the door, and I saw the sheets had been kicked off in the night. They were entwined in each other’s arms. He’d probably stayed the night-“

Walt remembered all too well the sight of the two of them in each other’s arms. At first he was surprised he didn’t feel the slightest tinge of jealousy to see her in Nate’s close unconscious embrace. Her arms wrapped round his body, pressing him close. Her face pressed into his bare shoulder. Her hand wrapped round his hardening prick, slowly moving as she wakes up.

“So lovely to wake up next to you-“ She had murmured, with a satisfied smile.

"It was awkward. I didn’t want to be discovered so I retreated behind a screen. I couldn’t just go out through the door the way I’d came in as they would have noticed.”

“What did you see?”

Walt pauses, obviously unsure about exposing Nate and Margot’s secrets. 

“Well, you started. You may as well tell us all.”

“They’re lovers.” Walt says bluntly, a blush staining his cheeks.

“You’re her lover, as well.” Trombley points out with more than a touch of envy. “Lucky beggar, getting a piece of that every night at court. She won’t even look at me!”

“This is different.” Walt shakes his head, troubled by the knowledge he has found. “He’s in love with her. She has feelings for him, far more than she ever had for Ray or me. This is a full blown relationship and I don’t feel good carrying on with a woman who Nate is so closely bound to. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Then why is she messing round with other men if she’s with Nate? Does he know?”

“Oh yes, I think there’s no question that he knows.”

“How can he bear it? Watching the woman he purports to love sleeping with others? Going out into the heart of Paris looking for strangers to swive?”

“Maybe he doesn’t have a choice. As far as I could see, there’s one person who wears the breeches in that relationship and it certainly isn’t him!”

“I’m telling Sir Francis. I’m not doing it.” Walt declares.

“You know he’s going to be furious when he finds out. What about Catherine and the king? Sounds like we’re under royal orders.”

“They can find some other fool to mess around with her because I won’t do it. Not any more.”

“You’ll have to tell her as well. What will you say?”

“The truth.”

Ray shakes his head, although to Brad’s mind he would say he looks pleased by Walt decision to break it off with the princess. “God help you, then.”

*

Henriette passes Brad and Ray on the stairs. She's dressed as if to go out tying on her velvet mask, her fiery curls confined in a gold net in a fantastical style, all intricate coils and braids.

"My lady-" Brad moves aside to let her pass. She drops something into his hand. It's a small iron key.

"If you were to walk past de Guise's office while we were out, you may find this useful-" she says only for his ears. She raises her voice for the benefit of the other ladies who are waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs. "Claude, Catherine and I are going shopping. we won't be back until later, so do try and keep out of trouble, lads, won't you?"

"Certainly, my lady." Brad grasps her hand and pulls her close for a moment. "Why are you helping us?” he hisses.

Her sloe-dark eyes just stare back at him, challenging as a sabre thrust. He senses that underneath the mask of impudent frivolity and that exuberant coppery froth of curls Henriette de Nevers is a formidable woman. Brad was right to be wary of her. "Why shouldn't I help you?”

“You are one of them, you know what we want and what we are and yet you give us this. Does it not trouble you to betray your own family?-”

She gives him an engimatic little smile. "Who knows? Maybe I just want a little amusement?"

Henriette pulls away from his firm grasp, calling out to the ladies. “Come ladies, I will be most vexed if I miss any bargains!

As she brushes past, Brad reads upon her lips the simple phrase: one hour. _There isn’t much time to waste. Time for the team to get to work and start doing their jobs. About time!_

“That’s our cue. Time to earn our keep and start some serious investigation of the de Guise involvement.” Brad slips the key in the lock. It’s a little stiff, but the door opens. Brad pulls Ray and Walt inside. “Make sure you leave everything as you found it. We don’t want Henri de Guise to know anything about our enquiries.”

“I still can’t work out why she gave you the key to his office. What’s in it for her?”  
“Who knows? We mustn’t trust her too readily. If she is prepared to betray her family on a whim, she could turn on us at any moment. We must keep the woman at arm’s length until we find out what her game is.”

Ray’s already rifling through the papers, assessing what needs to be copied and what can be safely left behind.

“It’s a shame we cannot organise a little burgulary. Just to obtain some of these paper for a longer period.”

“It’d never work. This place is too heavily guarded by de Guise’s servants. We’re only tolerated here because we have the good fortune to be guests of the ladies of the house.”

 

Henriette lets Nate into the chamber and locks the door behind him. As he enters the room the aromatic steam from the marble bath fills the air. She lies in the hot rose and lavender scented water, eyes closed, lost in an amourous reverie. One leg dangles out of the water, idly tracing a path on the wet stone.

Her dark hair is damp and clinging to her wet naked body, her breasts rosy and half submerged in the water. Her hands delibrately cup her breasts displaying them to his gaze.  
 _She is my sin, my temptress. And God help me, no matter how hard I try to withstand temptation, I want her._

Her eyes slowly open and that secret smile she bestows only on him curves her corner of her mouth as she sees him leaning against the doorway.

"My lady-"

"Take your clothes off, and get in." she says, her voice breathless with the desire she feels.

Nate is already removing his doublet, throwing it carelessly onto the bed. She watches him disrobe, a smile on her face.

He slides into the still hot water and she climbs into his lap, straddling his hips, her lips meeting his as she impales her self onto his body.

"Oh, yes-" she sighs as she sinks down onto him. “This is what I crave, right here. How could I ever have done without this?”

"You love this, playing with fire."

"I can't help it. I want you."

There's water slopping all over the floor but neither of them care, lost in the moment.

He lifts her up and steps out of the tub. Margot locks her legs round him, clinging tightly to his body. He sinks down onto the bed and she resumes her position on top of him. He can feel the wet silk of the coverlet against his back as she grinds him into the soft feather mattress.

She tightens round him and he loses control, crying out.

Is there something wrong with me, because I know this is no longer enough?

"Oh God, I needed that. Didn't you?" she sighs, still catching her breath after their amorous exertions. She reaches up to touch his face, sensing his detachment from her.  
"Nate? What's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong." he says. For a moment he thinks that she's going to challenge him and delve further, but she just lies back on the pillows with a sigh.

"I wish you'd talk to me as we once did." she says wistfully, lying on her back and looking up at the rich draperies of the bed. "Sometimes I feel as if you're so distant from me, no matter what I do. I wonder do you still love me as you once did." 

Sometimes he wishes that they would tackle the issue that right in front of them honestly, that he could voice his grievance but it's never the right time. He must hold his tongue.

“Nate? Your foreign friends are here.” comes Henriette’s voice from behind the door. He pulls his clothes back on, ignoring the dampness of his hair and doublet.

“Do you really have to go?” she says idly tracing intricate patterns on the hollow of his throat with her fingertips. Just the lightest of touches. “Ignore them. Stay with me.”

“You know I cannot, my lady. They’ll get suspicious. People will start to speculate.” He presses a kiss to her bare shoulder, letting her feel the gentle scrape of his teeth against her skin. “Tonight. I’ll return to you, I promise.”

Nate pulls away from the temptation of her soft mouth. “Who is it?” he calls.

“Stafford and Lord Colbert.”

Nate gets up and unlocks the door.

“Get dressed, Daisy!” he hisses. She reluctantly starts to pull her chemise on.

Brad doesn’t say anything, but one eyebrow goes up at the sight of him. Nate self-consciously touches his hair and his kiss-swollen lips, surely he doesn’t look that much of a debauched mess. 

“I hope I wasn’t disturbing you too much, but could we borrow you for a moment?”  
Nate agrees before Margot can lodge any objection. “Of course, Lord Colbert. Lead the way-“

"Don't keep him too long, will you?" she remarks with a shameless gleam as the team leave her chamber.

 

Brad is very careful not to says anything as they make their way back to Sir Walt's quarters, although Nate is perfectly aware that he must know what they were up to. Even a child could probably work it out. He silently prays he doesn't meet Claude or Catherine de Porcian on the way.

"Damp hair?" Brad raises one eyebrow. Nate feels his face growing hot with embarrassment.

"We're not going to talk about this. Do you understand?"  
Stafford ducks his head. Nate suspects that he wants to laugh but is just about managing to control himself.

“Well, Ray and I have been working on what we managed to gather from de Guise’s office while the ladies were out, and we have some interesting material here.” Brad indicates the file of purloined material they’d managed to lift during their raid.

“Enough to pin the Funteyn conspiracy on him?” 

“It’s a start. But I suspect we are going to have little opportunity to repeat the manoeuvre. I doubt he knows that we are in residence and I don’t think he would be very happy to find out.” 

“We return to the palace tomorrow, do we not? Well let’s copy what we can and report to Sir Francis and Lord Ferrando when we arrive back at the palace.”

* * *


	13. The Child's Burden

Chambord, 1568

 

Seamus is rather apprehensive as he waits outside Catherine’s office. He prays that she hasn’t discovered his true role just yet. Have I been betrayed? Should I have been more careful?

“Monsieur Fick, my lady is ready to see you.” Maddalena says snidely. “Be careful not to keep her waiting.”

There’s something about her bitchy asides that just makes everything worse. Leaves a man grasping for straws mired in his own paranoia. He sees her tactics now; discomfit and destablise a person to create dominance. Maddalena is Catherine’s attack dog. She cannot be trusted as far as she can be thrown.

“Well, well, Seamus Fick. Shut the door we have much to discuss in private.” she notices Maddalena linger unnecessarily by the doorways and calls her out on it. “Do you not have somewhere to go, Maddalena?”

The maid leaves with a slam of the door. Her displeasure at being dismissed is evident. Seamus is not fooled by the pantomine. He knows that Maddalena is her confidant, It’s ony a matter of time until she fills her in on the details.

“Please sit.”

“How may I serve your Majesty?” Seamus asks as soon as he is allowed to speak. He can’t help but wonder whether she’s found out about his spying. _Has someone betrayed him?_

“I want to ask you a favour. I hope you will be able to oblige me.” Catherine says pleasantly.

“Anything I can do for my lady.” He says courteously. Years at the court have enabled to play the game with a certain amount of skill.

“You may have noticed that my daughter is very fond of your son.”

“Nathaniel?” Despite himself a chill of fear runs through him. _What does Catherine want with my Nate?_

“The children are inseparable. Constantly in each other’s company, Day and Night. She loves and trusts him to a marvellous extent. He’s done well to gain her favour so thoroughly.”

“What is your will concerning my son, your Majesty?” he asks.

“My plan is to make Nathaniel a ward of court.”

Seamus feel the cold grip of fear settle in his guts. She wants to take his son from him.

“He will be employed to serve my daughter to utilise his talents in her service. I will pay him a wage and he will teach her music and dancing. He’s talented enough, and since he already does so informally, this just makes it all official.”

Seamus feels disorientated. “But he’s so young-“ he says weakly. “He’s barely thirteen years of age.”

Catherine smiles complacently, confident she has Seamus exactly where she wants him. “I understand your concern for your son. I promise to undertake his education. He will be fed, clothed and taught at the crown’s expense. I will treat him to all intents and purposes as one of my own.”

Seamus knows he shouldn’t look a gift horse too closely in the mouth. Sir Francis and Godfather would probably leap at the chance of having Nate so close to the throne. She will have the resources to afford the best tutors for Nate. And of course if he’s so close to the throne he will have ample opportunity to spy for Sir Francis and Godfather.

“Let me be candid with you. Nate is an asset to any court. He is intelligent, he is incredibly musically gifted and blessed with such exquisite looks. He would be an ornament to any court in Europe. But most of all, he makes my daughter happy. Have you ever observed the two of them together?”

“I cannot say that I have, Your Majesty.”

“He makes her smile. He makes her laugh. He stops her from the worst of her rash excesses. He adores his young mistress and she is devoted to him. Help me make my troubled daughter happy. Let him become a ward of court.”

“I do not wish to displease you Majesty, but Nate is all I have left, now that I’ve lost Jenny and Sorcha. It will be hard to part from him.”

“Do not fret. I promise I will make Nate the envy of every boy in France. Do you realise the honour I bestow upon him? I will give him an education fit for a prince. Far better than the de Guise family could be prevailed upon to give him. And on your wages as a royal attendant... There’s no need to apologise, I know that things have been rather erratic financially.”

Seamus says nothing. There’s no need to tell him. The Valois are dependant on the goodwill of the nobles and their gifts to encourage royal favour. Bribery by another name.  
Everyone knows civil war is an expensive business and once the bankers of Lyon refused to extend credit any more to the royal family there have been lean times for the court. If Seamus and Nate didn’t have the funds from Sir Francis he doesn’t know how they’d survive here.

“Don’t you think that Nate’s gifts deserve the best?” she presses. “I understand this is a difficult decision for you. He is your son. I’m sure I could adequately compensate you for your loss.”

That makes Seamus feel worse than ever, like he’s selling Nate to the highest bidder.  
“I have to consult with my sister Sorcha. It would be unfair to make a decision about Nathaniel’s future without consulting her. And I will have to talk to Nate himself.”

“Of course. Do not take too long to come to your decision. As I said: I am offering you and him the chance to advance yourselves beyond your wildest hopes and dreams. Do you think the de Guise care about his future? They looked down on and despised Genevieve and her progeny. Make the right choice. I’m sure you will.”

 

Seamus lies on the bed, his face drawn with pain. He clutches at Nate's arm for support. "Son, is that you?"

He returns his father's clasp. "I'm here, Father."

Nate had known his father wasn't well. He begged him not to take that last posting in Strasbourg, offered to do it himself if he could, but he'd done it anyway, keen not to let their handler Godfather down. None the less it shocked Nate to see how his illness has sucked the life out of his father, leaving him a husk of his former self. All the life essence drained away like sap from a blighted tree. 

"You're a great comfort to me, Nathaniel." Seamus says with a wistful stroke of his son's hand. Even now he was trying in his own humble way to impart some comfort to him, even as his life was slowly and inexorably draining away second by second.

There's something in his voice that sets him off, has his weary eyes stinging with the traitorous tears he tries to hold back. He can't give way to emotion. Nate knows he must be the strong one here.

"I haven't got long, my boy."

“Don't say it.” Nate hates how choked his voice is, how he can’t control it.

Seamus tries to give his son a small weary smile. “No point in hiding from the truth of it, lad. I’m not long for this world.” 

“Father, please-“ he says unheeding of the slow trickle down his tired ashen face.

His father’s pale thin hand reaches up to brush them away. “My dear brave lad. Thirteen years old –“ he shakes his head. “You mustn’t mourn, lad. I’ve lived a decent life with no small joy in it, thanks to yourself. Couldn’t have had a better son-“

“Don’t talk of this now, Father. Conserve your strength. Concentrate on getting better.” Nate urges his father trying still to keep his spirits up in the face of futility.

His father carries on as if he hadn’t heard his protest. The fight’s gone out of him.  
“-Since Sir Francis and Godfather obliged us to work for them you’ve taken the task on without a word of complaint. Even in the face of danger.” Seamus’s voice sinks to an ashamed whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“-For involving you in this mess. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you like a true father should. From my own folly and it’s consequences. You had to shoulder the burden of a man so young.”

“I wish we had more time, Father. There’s so much I don’t know yet.”

Seamus squeezes his hand. “I know. Evan promised me he would keep an eye out for you. He’s a good man. You can trust him with your life if needs be.” He sighs. It is this that troubles him. “You must see Godfather soon.”

Nate may be young, but he’s worldly enough to be sceptical whether his father’s bosses will count his death as the end of his service. In any case he still isn’t free of the coils of Sir Francis and his partner. He knows too much to be allowed to live a peaceful life now.

“I don’t know what he will do, Nate.”

Nate squares his shoulders, making up his mind. “I will do what I have to and if that means I have to carry on your work-“

“You are a young lad with such promise. So intelligent and musically gifted. The world is at your feet, son and yet you are forced to spy for my masters because of my own foolishness. Sorcha was right. I have wronged you, my boy. I’m sorry. I never deserved a son like you. My gift from God.”

Despite his vow, Nate feels the tears splash down his face as he embraces his fading father. “There is nothing to forgive, Father.”

Seamus straightens up in bed and looks at his son. There is one more thing that is on his mind before he leaves.“The girl. Do you care for her?” he asks abruptly.

Nate goes pink. He’s never known how much his father knew about his relationship with the Princesse. About his hopeless all-consuming passion for her.

“You don’t have to say anything, son.” Seamus says gently, seeing Nate’s confusion. “You have been together since you were babes. You weren’t even out of skirts when you first met! It’s understandable you would develop feelings for her. She is a beautiful girl, no question about it.”

“You don’t judge me? For daring to look on a Princesse of the Blood with love?”

“You must never think that you are not worthy of her. The Valois aren’t demi gods, no matter what they would like to think. Be careful, my son. She has demands on her that she cannot forget. You must know that it’s very likely you will never be together truly. If you’re sure that you love her and you are willing to take the risk-”

“I do, Father.”

The door opens and Nate turns. It’s Margot who peers from the doorway as if reluctant to intrude on his grief.

“I just heard. I’m sorry to intrude, but I was worried you’d be all alone, Nate.”

“Come in, my lady. I am honoured by your attention.”

“Please don’t rise on my account, Monsieur de Tournelles. Conserve your strength.” She sinks to her knees and places her small pale hand in his.

“Do you care for my son, my lady?” Seamus asks. He catches the stray glance they exchange and it’s clear as crystal to him then. They’re radiant with love, innocent and pure and strong like a sacrificial flame. Seamus pities his son, for such love for a princess is hopeless. They’re both so youthful. He prays they will get through it without tearing each other apart. They’re young and they will make their own mistakes and learn from them. At least if she loves him, she will try to make him happy, he tells himself. Yet the misgiving still remains.

“Yes, I care for him. So very much-“ she says softly. Her eyes well with tears.

“Good girl-“ He squeezes her hand. “I believe it.”

“Do you want me to give you both some time-“ She asks.  
“No, my lady. Stay with Nate. He needs you now.” She nods and clasps Nate’s hand in hers.

“Goodbye son and remember Jenny your dear mother and I loved you so very much. We only wanted the best for you.”

 

"That's just it. I've been alone all my life since I was a child. Digging for secrets, spying for Sir Francis-" Nate looks into his wine glass with the ghost of a sad smile tugging at his mouth. "It's hard realising that I'm not alone. That there's people to back me up. People I can trust."

"It can't have been much of a childhood." Brad can't imagine the danger Nate must have lived with all that time. Constantly in fear his secret might be discovered, stealing, breaking and entering to find the information Godfather demanded. All the time living a double life, courtier and spy.

"It wasn't.”

Brad senses not to push Nate right now. He needs to be able to trust us.

“Do you see why I need Margot? She is my protection. No one would seriously dare to try and harm me while I am under her wing. Who would dare touch her favourite?” 


	14. Orpheus in the Underworld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a rough translation of the Italian poem in this chapter
> 
> 'Sweet dreams of ecstatic love.  
> Come to me, immerse me in bliss.  
> I dream of my lover’s caresses and long for the moment of our union.
> 
> My heart, my soul is bound to you forever.  
> Come golden mist, bind us in love and ecstasy, transport us to heaven.  
> I long for the honeyed taste of my lover's kisses  
> Forever yours I will always be

Anjou holds court at the centre of the room, the pampered favoured prince surrounded by his followers.

‘God. They’re like peas in a pod, aren’t they?’ commented Sir Francis. ‘I wonder if Catherine duplicates them in some secret laboratory? Mirror images of her favourite son?’

Brad has to concede his boss has a point. They all wear the same uniform of close fitting satin or silk doublets in light colours, perfumed curled hair and a profusion of jewels, lace, ribbon and plumes. They look like pampered peacocks striding round in their arrogance and pride. Brad doubts that any of them have ever done an honest day’s work in their entire lives.

‘Please tell me you don’t expect us to go around in that get up, Sir? We’ll look ridiculous.’ 

Sir Francis cracks his dry as bones smile. ‘I suppose a little more flamboyance in our dress wouldn’t go amiss. After all, we are at court now. We’re going to have to make an effort to try and fit in, so we don’t draw undue suspicions towards ourselves.’

‘I’m not wearing blinking plumes like some nancy boy!’ hisses Trombley, who has been staring at the courtiers in undisguised disgust. ‘I’m not wearing paint either. Not on your life!’

‘Trombley, you’re missing the point. Didn’t you hear what Sir Francis said, we’re in a different world now. We’re just going to have to try and fit in.’ Ray says with an impish twinkle.

‘You can’t make me wear eyeliner. I won’t!’

‘Why not? You’d look great with a slick of colour right underneath your eyes. Bring out the blue in them… You’ll be fighting off those ‘Mignons’ with a stick!-’

Trombley stomps away, sulking.

 

‘You know, it was almost worth it, just to see the look on his face.’ Ray muses in delight. “God bless Trombley, the lunatic. Hours of cheap entertainment for the masses.” 

‘You love baiting the lad, don’t you?’ chides Walt. ‘It’s like poking a bear with a stick, Ray. One day he’s going to explode, and I don’t want to be anywhere near when that happens.’

‘I’ve got to have some amusement in this place, haven’t I?’ Ray replies, unrepentant as ever. 

‘I’ve arranged some fittings with a decent tailor, now that I’ve had a chance to observe the latest thing at court. I’ll not have anyone looking down on my men.’

“So we’re to play at being courtiers now?” 

‘For the nonce. I chose you all because you have the best chance of blending in with the court. I’ve trained you and educated you as best I can. Go amongst them, socialise and start to gain confidences. Someone here at court knows something about that plot, and we’re going to stop it.’Walsingham says serenely.

‘We will not let you down, Sir.’ assured Brad.

*

Nate tunes his lute, turning the ivory pegs quickly. He doesn’t see Brad looking at him, carefully observing as always.

‘My lords and ladies, what would you like to hear this evening?’ he asks.

‘Play us one of the latest air de cœurs. Something sweet and romantic, for we all have love on our minds, now that our dear sister is to be married.’

Margot scowls furiously in the background, but her brother seems quite unabashed. _He enjoys provoking her in some perverse way,_ Brad notes. Just as he finds himself intrigued by their relationship he corrects himself. _I’m meant to be investigating de Guise. When did this stop being a clean quick campaign?_

Nate starts to sing and Brad notices the scowl on Margot’s face melt away as she falls under the spell of that clear sweet tenor. Her eyes close and she lets the sound of his voice wash over her. He notices her lips move silently, mouthing the words and he realises that this means something to both of them. A thrill of shock courses through him. She’s barely attempting to hide her feelings for Nate. Deep down he can’t help feeling that he shouldn’t be witnessing something so emotionally exposed.

‘Sogni dolci di amore estatico.  
Venga a me, mi immerga nella beatitudine.  
Io sogno le carezze del mio amore  
e lungo per il momento della nostra unione.

Il mio cuore, la mia anima è allacciata con Lei per sempre.  
Venga nebbia dorata, ci leghi in amore e l'estasi, ci trasporti a cielo.  
Io implorerò il gusto melato dei baci del mio innamorato.  
tua per sempre sarò sempre .’

“He could do anything he wanted with a voice like that. Why does he spend his time here?” Brad says to Walt and Sir Francis. They understand what he leaves unsaid. 

‘You may think I am cruel to employ Nate as an agent despite his youth. But I am giving him a chance to utilise his talents in an environment he has lived in since he was a child in skirts. I don’t think he feels so hard done by, Lord Colbert.’

Brad wonders how Sir Francis can be so sure.

‘Wasn’t that marvellous? Our sweet Orpheus never ceases to amaze us with his talent.’ Charles says indulgently. “You make us all, and especially my dear sister very happy.”

Charles must know what is going on between his sister and Nate. They practically told the entire court, had they only ears to hear that they were lovers in every single way possible. He seems to condone this illicit affair or at least turn a blind eye to it and there must be a reason why .

* * *

In the Gardens

 

Anjou trails a nail down Nate’s cheek, running the pad of his thumb over that lush pink mouth of his. Nate can’t suppress the shudder, the unconscious move to wipe away the prince’s unwanted caress.

“Sweet Troubadour-” he says, languidly, loud enough that Brad can still hear him. “If only you would yield to me-”

Brad can see by the tension in Nate’s body language that he doesn’t want the prince to touch him. He senses Nate seems afraid of Anjou. A flare of anger wells up that this pampered cruel prince would dare to hurt Nate.

_Where on earth had that come from?_

Brad is walking in the garden admiring the charming layout of the rose maze when he hears raised voices coming from an alcove. He hurries to leave the scene, not wanting to walk in on a tryst. Despite the fact they’ve been at court for little more than a week, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the casual debauchery on show. Every corner seems to conceal an amorous couple. The women are just as rapacious and aggressive as the men sexually. Brad had remarked on it to Lord Walsingham, who’d shrugged and flashed him a cynical smile.  
 _I’m not surprised, Lord Colbert._ He had said. _In a place like this where power and lust are so closely intermingled, women learn to behave no better than whores for a little taste of power. Their bodies and their beauty are their weapons._

‘Why do you shrink from me, Nate?’ That’s definitely Anjou’s drawling, cultured voice coming from the alcove.

Something tells Brad to stay. He moves closer to the alcove, concentrating on not being seen by either of them, his feet moving soundlessly on the path to surprise them. _What does Anjou want with Nate?_

Anjou has pinned Nate against the trunk of the tree, pressing his body up against him so Nate can’t readily escape. He has his hands inside his hose, obviously cupping and stroking his dick. Brad cannot believe how angry the sight makes him. The presumption and sheer arrogance of this spoiled little princeling. 

Nate’s hands are at his chest, but they are pushing the prince away, struggling to be free.  
‘Why do you lower yourself to pay your attentions to me?’ He says. ‘I fear I would disappoint you.’

‘How would you disappoint me? I have desired you for a long time. You must have realised-‘ Anjou moves to kiss Nate. He swerves, and the kiss lands off target on his jaw line. ‘If only you knew how much I desire you. You could have anything you wanted. Do you know how much power you would have, if you would just yield to me? For I could not deny you anything-‘ 

Brad’s voice is quiet but forceful, brooking no argument as he comes out of hiding to intervene. There’s no doubt that Nate is perfectly capable of defending himself, but he’s so angry he can’t stop himself. ‘I think you should leave, your Grace.’ 

‘You do, do you?’ Anjou replies in his haughtiest voice, looking Brad up and down as if he was dirt off his shoes and not worthy to be in his presence. ‘And what gives you the right to interfere?’

‘Nate is my friend, and I don’t believe for one second he wants you to touch him.’Brad's voice is at it's coldest as he stares the prince down. There's something about the situation which makes him feel positively territorial.

He sees Nate’s grateful eyes catch his, and he’s sure he did the right thing.

‘It is none of your business, Lord Colbert.’ Anjou says. ‘You have no right to interfere.’

Nate meets Anjou’s eyes.‘You of all people should understand why I do not welcome your caresses, Sir.’ He says quietly. ‘Let me be, my lord.’

To Brad’s surprise, the prince backs down, intriguing his interest. _What could have happened?_

‘You are a fool, Nate. I would have given you anything. Do you still hold a grudge against me? Can you not forgive a youthful mistake?’

‘I do not wish you ill, sir but I cannot serve you in that way. Please try to understand.’ Nate is trying his hardest not to give offence while still remaining firm. He will not let the prince have his way. He will not yield.

‘My sister has poisoned your mind against me! I know it! Telling you lies and slander against me! That girl will never share-’

It’s surprising to Brad how much contempt Nate invests in the words,though he is stil polite. ‘You forget my lord Anjou that I was there, do you not?’ 

Anjou’s face is stricken for a moment before he flees.

 

‘Thank you Lord Colbert for defending my honour.’ 

Brad wants to ask several questions, but he restrains himself to just one at the moment.

‘Does he do that kind of thing often? Touching you without your consent? How do you tolerate it?’

‘Let’s just say it’s a hazard of the job.’ Nate remarks.

‘You shouldn’t allow it.’ Brad says boldly. For a moment he doesn’t care if he sounds presumptuous. It’s true. What gives these spoilt Valois the right to treat him like their own personal plaything?

‘What would you have me do, exactly?’ 

In the dusk, Brad can see the slight curve upward of his mouth. It’s all he can do not to pin him up against the wall and take his mouth himself. Lust hits him in the gut. It’s been a long time since Brad was felt such a fierce attraction for another man. On campaign there’d been discreet dalliances, nothing serious. This man is getting under his skin and he’s not sure how to deal with this. Not anymore. He’d thought that he’d managed to close down any chinks in his armour. Relying on impersonal whores to fill the gap.

_I cannot touch him. Not unless I know that he would want it too… I would be no better than Anjou otherwise._

 

‘You seem very close to the princess.’ observes Brad as they walk back to the palace.

‘We grew up together. We have been through a great deal together. I would have to be made of stone if I didn’t care at least a little bit for her.’

‘So much for being detached.’

Nate looks at him directly. ‘Oh I know my role, and I never forget it, not for a moment. But as I said, I’m not made of stone.’

He walks away, leaving Brad to think about it.

* * *

The trouble is that Brad can’t stop thinking about it, despite his vow to do the right thing. Can’t stop thinking about Nate’s face in the garden, all flushed, mouth all bruised and kissed.

 _Anjou was an idiot. He forced his desires on Nate without ever troubling to find out whether Nate wanted him back. The arrogance of aristocratic privilege, assuming that he would simply fall in with his whims and give his body to him._  
 _If I was in that same position with Nate,_ he thinks, his hand quickly delving into his hose.  
 _Damn it, I’m in deep enough I may as well see this through,_ he thinks as his hand wraps round his prick.  
 _In the garden, we’re all alone. We’re both leant against that trunk of the tree ,swapping heady kisses, frantic with arousal and the knowledge that someone might come across them any minute. It’s impossible to keep a secret in a place like this .Equally impossible to stop._  
He feels Nate’s exhale on his skin. “Another taste-“  
“Look at me.” I say, a mere breath against his ear.  
Nate’s arm is wrapped around my neck, his eyes dark with desire until only a sliver of that clear green can be seen. He looks like a gloriously debauched fallen angel.  
This is all mine I tell him. You belong to me and me alone . Do you understand?  
He nods, far far past coherent words as I firmly stroke his dick, lingering on the sensitive head of it. Letting out desperate passionate gasps as I take his mouth, swallowing down his cries of pleasure like rich heady wine. Nate’s lithe body arches and tense underneath mine as he comes in long spurts.  
I want you, oh God Brad I want you he gasps, his prick still pulsing within my hand.

Brad’s still lying on his bed, prick still in his hand when he hears the door go. He quickly covers up, wiping his hand on the sheet.  
Ray’s at the door, grinning like the cat that got the cream. He can hear a feminine giggle in the corridor behind his friend.

‘Yes, Ray?’

‘I need the room for a bit.’

He’s not willing to play ball, not when he’s still turned on and frustrated. ‘I’m busy.’

‘No, you’re not, you’re reading a book, Brad, don’t be pissy with me. Oh!-’ his dark eyes go wide with scandalised delight.

‘Don’t even think about saying it, or I’m not going anywhere. I’m pretty sure you don’t want a captive and critical audience right now.’ Brad warns. “-And trust me, I would be critical-“

‘Come on, Lord Colbert-‘ the woman cajoles. Brad thinks he recognises her voice. Henriette, Duchesse de Nevers. Margot’s close friend and handmaiden.Their mysterious and yet rather unreliable ally.

‘I only need an hour, Brad. I need to keep the duchesse sweet. Would you begrudge me that?’

He sighs, sounding hard done by. ‘Alright, one hour, no more. I’ll talk to you later.’  
Ray cannot resist one last riposte. ‘You know, if you wanted some ‘private time’, all you had to do is say-‘  
Brad is not amused. ‘Don’t push your luck, Ray.’

* * *

Catherine de Medici's quarters

 

Maddalena knocks on the door. ‘Madama, I have my lord Anjou here to see you.’

Catherine looks up with a genuine smile. ‘Let him in, Maddalena. Thank you-‘

The Italian maid lets him in and shuts the door behind them with an insolent smirk.

‘Maman?’ Anjou lets himself into Catherine’s office and makes himself at home, putting his feet on the table.

His mother looks on indulgently at her son, ruffling his dark perfumed curls as she passes. ‘My dearest boy, you haven’t over-tired yourself? I haven’t seen you all evening.’

Anjou gives an indulgent yawn. ‘Perhaps.’

‘What’s the matter, dear Alexandre, you seem a little down?’

‘Can I confide in you, dearest Maman?’

‘Of course, my darling, you know you can tell me anything, don’t you? What is it?’ she says, obviously doting on her favourite son.

‘I was in the garden with Nate. He still refuses to yield to me, Maman. It’s most provoking. I swear Margot has made him hate me. It’s not fair!’ he pouts.

‘What happened?’ She knows Anjou will not leave Nate alone. No matter how many times she advises him to leave it be, he forgets and tries to win the lad over. And Nate’s respectful coldness merely makes him more ardent, fuels his obsession for the troubadour.

‘All I did was touch and kiss him. Tell him he could have anything he sought if only he would yield to me.’ 

Catherineshakes her head over Anjou's petualnt brooding. _This boy and his unreasoning obsession with the de Tournelles lad!_ ‘How did he respond to this?’

‘He pushed me away. He was so hateful. And that arrogant _anglais_ Lord Colbert speaking to me like I was not a Prince de la Sangue!’

That gets Catherine’s attention. ‘Lord Colbert was there?’

The prince is too self-absorbed to notice Catherine’s interest.‘Lord Colbert walked in on us. He was very rude. Told me Nate was his friend and he didn’t want me to touch him. Though if you ask me, I bet he wanted him for himself.’

 _This is very interesting,_ thinks Catherine, mind working swiftly behind those veiled eyelids.‘My dear boy, I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with the man. Don’t you have any number of male favourites you could favour?’

Anjou makes an impatient sound. ‘It’s Nate that I want, Maman. I won’t be happy until I possess him, body and soul. He will be mine, not Margot’s.’

‘Then be ruled by me, my son. Don’t push him. The more you press him, the more he will resist. You must be clever, my dear Anjou and make him crave you. Do you understand?’

Anjou pouts. He hates to wait, being addicted to the thrill of instant gratification of his desires."If you say so, Maman."

* * *

Brad looks at the portrait and things become clearer, although perhaps not in the way he’d like. 

Margot stands, her small pale hand in Nate’s. They both look very young, twelve or fourteen at most. The gown of pale grey silk grosgrain fits close to her budding figure and there’s a wealth of pearls and diamonds edging her gown and on her cloth of silver embroidered petticoat. Her dark sweep of silky hair flows down loose to her waist, bound by fine silver and a crescent at her forehead. Diana the moon goddess at her most ethereal and lovely. 

Nate is in a gold velvet doublet, richly embroidered with gilt thread with intricate patterns surrounding an ornate sun on his chest. The light picks out the gold and red tones in his hair. He’s kneeling by her feet, his hand in hers, looking up at her with such adoration and love. She smiles back at him tenderly, having only eyes for him. Her gaze lingering on the curve of that kissable pink mouth.

‘Isn’t it a glorious painting? One of François Clouet’s masterpieces. Look at the detail! It’s so lifelike, it’s like they are about to turn to the viewer-’ Henriette says. ‘I remember the master saying Nate looks amazing. Such a lovely face, he didn’t have to flatter him at all.’

‘Why the sun and moon imagery?’ asks Walt, examining the picture. His eyes travel over the painting trying to decipher the levels of meaning in it.

Henriette thinks for a moment. ‘Nate wrote a beautiful masque at the time around the theme. He played Apollo and she played Artemis. It was such a romantic production. Margot once told me it was one of her happiest memories. Back then when we were all innocent-’ she says, before shutting up with an abrupt snap of her mouth.

‘All innocent? That’s rather intriguing-‘ Ray angles for an opening prompted by a look from Brad, but Henriette doesn’t react, pretending she doesn’t get their cue. Evidently there are some secrets she has scruples about spilling.

Brad looks again at the painting with a growing sense of misgiving. This is not the look of a mistress towards a favoured servant. This is something else. Something far more dangerous than a perilous passionate flirtation. To the observant eye, they look like they are in love.

 _What is going on here? And is Nate in too deep?_ He remembers Nate’s words in the garden, that he isn’t made of stone and resolves to find out more.

* * *

Anjou is still brooding on the unfairness that Nate refuses to yield to him. He takes a long draught of wine, letting the alcohol wash away the last of his scant self-control.  
 _Why the hell not? I am the prince, the heir. If I say so myself, I’m the finest man in the kingdom. He tells himself with a touch of arrogance. Who is he to refuse me?_ A mere humble musician, risen because of the favour of his sister Margot who now he considers it, has been infatuated with him since she was young. He would be nothing without the favour of the court. The de Guise family certainly don’t acknowledge him as one of their own.

He remembers the feel of Nate’s body underneath his hands as he touched him. The taut flat plane of his stomach as he struggled against his touch. The feel of his prick in his hand. The unconscious shudder as he ran his fingertips over the sensitive head of his dick. Those wonderfully erotic involuntary sounds Nate made when you touched his body even as he was desperate, trying to resist. _No wonder Margot can’t give him up. What a promising lover he would be, so very responsive._

He indulges in his favourite fantasy, the one that captured his imagination ever since Catherine told him all about it . Almost before he knows it, he has his prick firmly in hand and is working it for all he’s worth. The images flooding faster into his mind. 

_Margot and Nate watching each other disrobe in front of the mirror. His well-shaped graceful hands on the paleness of her pampered skin, cupping the ripe weight of her breasts in his hands.Teasing her until she sinks her teeth into the plush fullness of her lower lip. Her eyes flutter shut as his hand slides over the curve of her stomach, settling in between her thighs. Her hand moves over his as she shows him how to please her. He’s a fast learner as her hips start to thrust and undulate to the rhythm he’s setting. There’s an praticised intimacy in their gestures. I almost feel as if I shouldn’t be watching. But I can’t tear my eyes away..._  
She’s on her knees at the foot of the bed, the head of his prick sliding into her mouth. He’s laid back on the bed, long slender legs spread wide to accomodate her. She seems to worship his body with her mouth and hands, all long lean Mannerist lines and slender graceful limbs.The breadth of his shoulders, the flat plane of his stomach, trailing her tongue along the groove of his hips. She wraps her long silken hair, one of her greatest beauties round his dick, teasing him mercilessly with it’s soft texture until he begs her to stop tormenting him. She gives him a playful little smile and plants a kiss on his dick. Nate’s hand slides round her head encouraging her to resume her attentions in earnest. She opens her mouth and lets his prick slide back into her mouth. His eyes glaze over as his climax hits.  
Tangled up in the bedclothes, she’s astride him.Their bodies slick with sweat. Nate groans as she tightens round him, he can tell by the tensing of her stomach muscles. They shift position, Nate sitting up in order to kiss her deeply. His hands span her waist, urging her on to a climax  
I walk in, in just a loose robe. For a moment the lovers are so intent upon each other they don’t even notice my arrival. Nate’s face buried in her lap, licking her. The rumpled sheets clenched in her fists as she cries out, unheeding of any decorum she ought to have. I can’t help myself. I let out a groan of desire, longing to be in his place.  
Nate looks up then, that lush mouth glistening and shiny with her juices. He withdraws his two fingers from her quim and slides them back and forth into her mouth. She licks at them greedily, craving the taste. Both of them so debauched and gorgeous, I want desperately to join in.  
“What you do want, Alexandre?” she says to me languidly, sated and glorious against the covers.  
I step forward, boldly claiming my desires. “I want him and you together. Don’t deny me.”  
He gives her a look of mingled concern and terror, but she strokes his hair and whispers in his ear to console him.  
“Then join us, my lord-“ she smiles at last.  
I throw my robe off and slide onto the bed with them.  
“I want you to trust me.” I murmur to Nate, seeing his green eyes widen with uncertainty and fear. His unsureness merely spikes my desire for him to unbearable heights. “I want you to submit to me, dearest Nate.” I kiss every inch of that pale flesh speckled with golden freckles I can reach with my greedy wanton mouth. My hand cups that exquisite face, my gaze following the curve of his lips.“I want you to love me. Could you do that, Nate? Love me as much as you love her?”  
He turns his face towards mine, offering me his mouth in sweet submission. His eyes flutter open, looking straight at me. I could drown in those eyes. So pure and honest and innocent despite the demands and temptations of court.  
“Yes-“ his voice is no more than an exhale. 

*

He’s going to go mad with desire if he doesn’t get his own way soon. He lies on the bed, dick still so hard it could probably hammer in nails, despite the tell-tale stickiness of his hand. He tugs on the bell, a scowl of impatience on his face.

‘Send for Monsieur de Nançay.’ He orders with regal imperiousness. It’s an effort to keep his voice under control. ‘Tell him I need him urgently. Most urgently-’

‘Yes, Sire.’ The servant at the door takes one indiscreet look at the lump in his coverlet and rushes away to do his bidding.

*

It does not take long for Nançay to respond to his summons. He’s still wearing his black leather jerkin and his gorget, his sword strapped to his hip. Anjou smiles to himself as he sees his lover for the night. It’s not Nate, but Guy is more than suitable as a replacement, with his Teutonic good looks and the earnest severity of a mediaeval knight of old. The thought of corrupting such an upright man spikes his lust.

‘Sire, what is your will?’ he says, dutifully bowing. The firelight catches the slope of his cheekbones, the dark gold of his long hair pulled back with a leather thong, gilding it with light.

A cruel smile curves Anjou’s lips. ‘Take your clothes off, Monsieur de Nançay.’

The guard stares at him for a moment. He evidently wasn’t expecting that order at all. ‘My lord?’

‘Well? Are you going to obey me or not?’ The cultured voice is a little slurred. Nançay realises his master’s been drinking again. He’s angry and horny and obviously his intention tonight is to take out his frustration out on him. He knows this tone all too well, and realises exactly what mood his lover is in.

‘Alexandre-‘ he says, raising his eyes to his, his voice turned low and intimate.

‘Don’t say a word. Just take every stitch off. ’ 

Nançay knows better than to argue with the prince when he’s in a mood like this. He strips off his shirt and jerkin, casting them to the floor and revealing his taut muscled body for his lover’s inspection.

‘What is your will, my lord?’ he asks in an insolent sulky tone calculated to turn his lover on.

“Kneel down on the bed and grip the bedposts.”

Anjou binds Nançay’s wrists to the bedposts with leather thongs until he lies face down bent over a mass of pillows piled up on the bed. ‘I told you not to talk. Just lie there-”  
He makes a noise of sheer staisfaction at the sight.

The prince torments and teases Nançay over and over, wrapping a tight binding round his thick prick preventing him from getting his release. His arms are tight with corded muscle as he struggles against his bonds.

Anjou seems intent on tormenting him. He nearly thought he was going to lose it as he slides his fingers deep inside his arse, anointed heavily with scented oil.

‘Stop tormenting me, and just fuck me, damn it-‘ Nançay grits out, turning his head from the plumped up pillow, sweat making his long blonde hair cling to his forehead. His blue eyes are unfocused and dark with lust.

Anjou runs a carefully manicured nail down Guy’s back, making him shiver with the sensation.“You like that, don’t you?”

He’s at the stage where he’s prepared to beg for release. Do anything, endure any shame, as long as he reaches that maddening elusive climax. “Alexandre, please-“

"Do you think me cruel, mon cher?"

"Please, your Grace, don't torment me now-" Nançay gasps, teetering close to the edge. "I- I need-"

The Prince's cynical, faintly cruel smile softens as he lines himself up behind his lover, sliding a hand underneath him."I have exactly what you need."

As he thrusts into him, Anjou’s eyes are closed tightly. He mutters to himself. Nançay can just make out some of his words as his hips snap aginst the curves of Nançay's arse. ‘Need you… want, torment me, you will be mine.’ He’s thrusting faster now, on the edge of climax, rapidly losing control. ‘Body and soul, you’re mine now. Oh God, Nate-‘ his hand undoes the binding at last. 

He collapses on top of him. “My Nate. Mine at last-“ he whispers, pressing a possessive kiss against the rough skin on his neck.

 

_Nate?_

A chill goes down Nançay’s spine after his longed for climax. All this time his lover was fucking him and dreaming of someone else. Fantasising about Nate’s body underneath his. He feels used. Soiled and dirty in a way that he hadn’t before.

“Untie me, sire.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Anjou says idly, even as he does it. His arm creeps round Guy enjoying the play of muscles under the golden skin, but he shakes him off avoiding any intimacy now the deed is done.

‘Where are you doing?’ Anjou says sleepily yet still imperious, tiredness slurring his voice. ‘I don’t believe I gave you the order to leave me just yet? Really, you get more insolent by the day, Guy-Dominic-’

Nançay has nearly finished dressing. As he straps his sword back on, his voice is more bitter than he thought it would be.

‘If you wanted someone else in bed with you, maybe you should proposition them, not me. ‘

Anjou blinks at Nançay’s aloofness. ‘What do you mean? You’re angry with me, Guy-Dominic?’

‘I mean, I don’t appreciate being used as your personal sex object whenever you’re a bit frustrated, Sire.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re angry with me, Guy?’ he asks, giving his lover a hint of the famed Valois charm, that irresistible charisma that usually persuades others to do their will, no matter how crazy it may seem. ‘Haven’t we just had the most fabulously passionate sex?’ He reaches up to cup Guy’s dick through his breeches.

Guy swerves away from his touch, a scowl on his face.‘Yes, we had sex, Sire. And you used my body and thought about Nate the entire time. How do you think that makes me feel? Used and Dirty and resentful and-’

‘Don’t hate me, I couldn’t bear it.’ Anjou says, his dark soulful eyes gazing at his lover. Despite himself Nançay knows he’ll end up forgiving the prince’s transgressions, he always does. He feels his dick firm up again under the palm of Anjou’s hand. ‘I can’t help it. I want him. I desire him. I have for a long time. I can’t think of anything else.’

‘You are obsessed-‘ Nançay says flatly, failing to ignore the insistent touch of his master’s hand. ‘Why must you pursue him in vain?’

‘He will not yield to me, no matter how hard I try. He won’t do it. And he sleeps with Margot willingly, whenever she lures him into her bed. I’m sure he does. Why will he screw her and not me?’

Nançay has a very good idea why, though he is wise enough not to tell his master the truth. Nate dislikes the prince with a strong if irrational passion. He has ample cause not to want the prince near him.

‘Perhaps he loves her?’ Nançay suggests, keeping his tone casual. ‘Perhaps he’s not interested in men, my lord. Not everyone shares our desires-‘

His eyes are very bright in the firelight. Guy gets a bad feeling about this, but it’s too late to back out now.

‘Ask him. For me, Guy-Dominic. I want this so much. You, me and him. In bed. You’re his friend. He listens to you. Persuade him, and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams-’

* * *

Nate is still working by the light of a couple of candles when he hears a knock on the door. 

‘Come in, it’s open-’ he calls out, setting down his quill.

He smiles as he sees his friend Nançay. ‘It’s been a while, friend. Sit down. Do you want a drink? I’ve just opened a bottle of Rhenish-’

Nançay flops onto the bed. He leans against the bedpost and closes his eyes.

‘What is it, Guy?’ Nate asks. ‘It’s Anjou, isn’t it?’

‘I know you don’t really approve-‘

Nate runs his hands through his hair. ‘It’s not my place to pass judgment on you. For my part, I don’t know how you can bear him to touch you.’

His blue eyes stare straight at him, scrutinising him. ‘So you haven’t?’

Nate bridles at the implication, however subtle. ‘Of course I haven’t and I never will. No matter how hard he tries to persuade me.’

‘He’s very persuasive. All the Valois are. But then you know that already, don’t you?’

Nate flushes, right up to his ears. Nançay knows all about his thing for Margot.

‘He is obsessed with you. Do you know why he asked me to come to you tonight?’ Guy takes another long draught of Rhenish. Nate cannot help being concerned. Nançay is usually so in control, so blunt and practical. For him to need the crutch of drink, something must really be bothering him.

‘He is obsessed with you, Nate. He sleeps with me, and fantasises about you-‘

Looking at the other man, he realises something about the relationship that he hadn’t before. In many ways, Nançay is in a similar position to him and Margot. Caught in the Valois emotional web.

‘I have given him no encouragement, I promise you Guy-‘ Nate says earnestly. “I don’t want him. Why would he ever think that I would? After all that has happened?”

‘He wanted me to try and persuade you into bed with him. That we should all go to bed together. You, me and him.’

The wine churns in Nate’s gut at the thought of it. ‘No! Never-‘

“Yes, I thought that might be the response I’d get.” He says with that laconic little tilt to his mouth. “I’ll try not to be too heartbroken by the fact you don’t want to go to bed with me!”

“Why did you come here to tell me this? To warn me?”

Guy props his chin up with his hand. “Because for what it’s worth, you are a decent fellow. You are loyal to the princess, and not for personal gain. You are probably one of the few who loves her for herself and not her position.”

“You’re a good friend to me, you know Guy.”

Nançay is serious for a moment. “Then as your friend I tell you this: Anjou is wilful and he is determined to have you by fair means or foul. You need to be on your guard. Both of you, you and Lady Marguerite.”

“But I’m not-“

Guy looks at him pityingly. “Really? You haven’t restarted your affair with her recently?”

Nate blushes as he remembers their frantic rutting in the alcove, their desperate kisses, his hand sliding between her soft white thighs. “How did you guess?”

“Haven’t you worked it out? Whenever you two are on a hiatus I have a tougher job following her about the town. She goes out and gets swived just like a man because she can’t have you. She is addicted to you as you are to her- ” Guy’s eyes are sad as he watches his friend. “God help you both if you cannot give each other up.”

* * *

'Ladies?'

The girls curtsey in front of the Queen Mother in deference.

'It's time I had a progress report from you girls. Charlotte?'

Charlotte stands to attention, a smug little smirk on her face. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that she has succeeded in seducing Henri de Navarre.

'I'm pleased to report complete success with Monsieur de Navarre, Your Majesty.'

'Already?' hisses Henriette to her friend. 'Poor Marguerite. Never ever had a chance with that Circe on the loose-'

'Madame de Nevers, did you have something useful to say to the group?' Catherine's quiet voice curls out like a iron-tipped lash.

'No, Madame. Sorry.'

'Hold your tongue then, Madame de Nevers. You talk far too much-' 

She turns her attention back to Charlotte. 'You have engaged his affections? You've slept with him?'

Charlotte preens. 'Of course, your highness. Several times. He has already declared himself hopelessly in love with me.'

'Well? Leave nothing out!' Catherine presses, a gleam in her eyes. _There's something very untoward and inappropriate in her eagerness to hear all the details of her esquadron's sexual exploits,_ thinks Henriette with distaste as she watches her mistress.

'It did not take me long. It seems Henri de Navarre is quite a gallant on the sly, although his tastes run a bit coarse. Peasant girls and merchant's wives.' she reports, with a disapproving wrinkle of her delicate nose. ‘I invited him to my boudoir, told him how much I admire him, and let him think that it was all his own idea.'

'And how is he as a lover?' Catherine asks, still scribbling notes. 'Anything we can hold over him as blackmail or leverage?'

Charlotte cocks her head in thought, considering the question. Henriette has to suppress her distaste, wiping her face clean of any negative emotion. _How can Charlotte enjoy betraying the secrets of the boudoir to the Queen Mother? Does she feel nothing for Henri de Navarre?_

'As I said, his tastes run very coarse and he is a very-‘ her smirk broadens, lascivious with remembered lust.'-vigorous lover. I swear if I am not careful he will wear me out with his demands for constant lovemaking.'

'Just like his father Antoine...I'm sure you will be able to educate him to your taste, my dear Charlotte. I am extremely pleased with your tireless efforts.'

Charlotte preens under her approval like a cat served finest cream. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’

'-So Anne-Marie, how are you getting on with the English contingent?'  
Anne-Marie is not happy, but she’s not prepared to admit defeat just yet. 'So far things are going slowly, Your Majesty. The group are very insular and they converse in their own language between themselves. Sir Walter is of course heavily involved with your daughter Margot. He seems to have eyes for no one else-'

'Hmm, I shall ask her about that.' muses Catherine.

'-Sir Brad as the head of the group is highly elusive. Although many admire him for his bravery and athletic prowess during the hunt; where he helped save the king from that boar, he doesn’t socialise with us readily. I believe he disapproves of our Catholic excesses-'

'-He's an ardent Protestant? I suppose he would be if he is in Walsingham's entourage. You think he is the head of the group?'

'They all seem to defer to him. He and Walsingham constantly confer with each other.'

'This is all very well, Anne-Marie. Very detailed reconnaissance, as I would expect from an agent of your calibre. But have you made any progress towards getting him in your bed?'

Anne-Marie flushes, scarlet with embarrassment. 'Not as yet. As I said, Sir Brad is very elusive-'

'Meaning she can't do it.' mocks Charlotte. 'He's not interested, despite her best efforts. Perhaps I should give her a hand. I mean since I have succeeded with my mark... For the good of the team-' 

'-Over my dead body!' snaps Anne-Marie.

'If I were you, Mademoiselle de Guise, I would redouble my efforts to get Lord Colbert into bed, otherwise I will be forced to turn this case over to someone who gets results. I need to know what Sir Francis is up to, and Brad Colbert is the key.’

'But Your Majesty, she's trying to poach my mark!' says Anne-Marie, all indignant. ‘It’s not right!’

'Need I remind you, I require results?’ Catherine’s voice is ice-cold. ‘Stop making pathetic excuses, Anne-Marie.'

She falls silent, feeling the sting of royal rebuke. Her cheekbones stained with anger.

'Go, you are all dismissed. Remember what I have told you.'

'Yes, Ma'am.' They chorus as they shuffle from the room.

 

The girls file out of the room. As Charlotte tries to pass, she is jostled by a furious Anne-Marie. She bangs her shoulder against the tapestry and has to struggle to keep her balance.

'You think you're funny, don't you?'

Charlotte regains her composure, managing to look faintly bored by Anne-Marie's open aggression. So classless. She must be desperate.

'I have no idea what you are talking about, Mademoiselle de Guise.’ 

Anne-Marie leans forward into Charlotte’s personal space, keen to assert her physical dominance. ‘Don't play games with me, Madame de Sauve. You will not like the consequences.' she hisses. 'If I find you pushing in on my mark, God help you.'

 

Charlotte thinks about the offhand remark Henriette de Nevers threw out about the Englishmen. It's a start: getting to his assistant. She decides to ply Henriette for information.

'Ah, Henriette my dear. Can I have a swift word?' she says, upon meeting her in a corridor.

If she didn't know better, she would say Henriette was avoiding her.

'Make it quick Charlotte, I'm meeting someone and I don't have time for this.'

'I heard you say to Madeleine that you were involved with one of the Englishmen. Which one was it again?'

Henriette is not fooled by Charlotte's transparent stratagems. “Come Charlotte, it was a jest-”

'There's two thousand crowns on a bet I am determined to win. That's a very expensive jest, my dear.'

'You really shouldn’t take me at my word.' Henriette says lightly. ‘You know me, never take anything seriously. Frivolous as any butterfly-‘

'The assistant, wasn't it? Ray Person. A clever fellow, more than he lets on.' Charlotte says idly.

Henriette isn’t fooled by Charlotte’s casualness. 'You really aren't as confident as you like to make out, are you? Don’t tell me you think you haven’t got what it takes to win, fair and square?'

'Let me be candid with you, dearest Henriette.' Charlotte says, laying on the charm inch thick like lead paint on a raddled whore. 'I want the English contingent. The Queen Mother has promised me a fabulous reward if I succeed, and besides Sir Brad intrigues me, I will not deny it.’

It’s one of the first times Henriette has heard Charlotte express physical desire for a mark, not just ambition.

“Oh you really want this one, do you? Charlotte, you surprise me-“

‘It cannot be denied he's a gorgeous man. Quite the prize if I can land him. I'm just as determined to get him as Anne-Marie is. More, for she isn't even trying. You have an 'in' with his good friend Ray. Exploit it for my benefit, not Anne-Marie's and I'll give you a cut of the winnings from the wager. How's that for a bargain?'

Henriette gives her a smile full of false charm. Charlotte realises she is going to thwart her and furthermore she's going to enjoy every minute. Has Anne-Marie gotten to her first? Or has someone else decided to compete for his affections instead? Is Margot on the search for yet another lover?

'Not only do I not want to, quite frankly I can't. So sorry, Charlotte, but I won't be able to help you.'

'What?' Charlotte blinks as if she is amazed that her charm offensive didn't work. 'What do you mean you can't?'

'If I brought the subject up with Ray he wouldn't tell me anything. He's extremely loyal to his friends. It would be a deal-breaker and I'm not prepared to do that, not for anyone. Certainly not for you.'

'Why the hell not? It's esquadron business. You have no right to obstruct me!'

Henriette's eyes take on a ruthless glint. 'He's not your mark, Charlotte. I don't have to help you at all.'

'You backstabbing little-'

She laughs in Charlotte's face. 'Why on Earth would I spoil a good thing on your behalf? What have you ever done for me?'

'A good thing? Are you in love with him? Some obscure but clever younger son of a lord? What can you see in a man like that?'

'In love? Please, Charlotte-' she leans forwards with an infectious grin, dimples popping up on her cheeks. 'I'm with Ray right now because frankly I love his prick. We both like to swive each other as much and as often as possible, and I'm not jeopardising that for anyone. Least of all you.'

 

Ray slips his arms round her waist, brushing her fiery curls from her nape and planting a kiss on the back of her neck.

'This is why I say you, Henriette are a pearl amongst women.'

She giggles, preening under his caresses. Even Ray is impressed. Henriette must be a better actress than he’d ever given her credit for.

Charlotte looks furious.

'-talking about loving my prick. We have urgent business which cannot be put off a second longer. If you will excuse us, Madame.'

He drags her off before Charlotte can protest.

 

'We need to talk.' she says as soon as they are alone.

Ray affects a careless air though his dark eyes are fixed on her face, watchful as ever.  
'So talk, my lady.' he says with a smile.

'It seems you boys have gained the attention of the Esquadron Volant. You need to be careful. The Queen Mother is eager to know why Sir Francis is really at court and why he surrounds himself with men like Sir Brad and yourself.'

Ray's been keeping his ears to the ground. He's heard vague rumours of this 'Esquadron Volant', a crack team of courtesans employed by Catherine de' Medici herself to spy on men and seduce them to her will. No one was willing to attest so far to their existence. Now Henriette claims she knows all about them. He wonders how much she knows. Is she one of them?

'We need to be careful? Henriette, you talk in riddles-'

She kisses him deliberately over and over again, hands wandering down the opening of his shirt.

'What are you doing?'

She plants a trail of kisses on his jaw leading up to his ear which she nips playfully. Her voice is a mere breath in his ear.'If anyone finds us here in this alcove, they'll see two horny buggers who couldn't wait to get to a bedroom to swive each other, instead of me whispering state secrets in your ear. Do you understand?'

Ray nods, acting dazed with lust yet completely alert. “Bedroom, Henriette. Now.”

She fails to suppress a smile.

 

Ray unlocks the door, hoping that Brad hasn’t gone out to find Nate or Sir Francis. He’s sat on the bed, poring over one of Nate’s dispatches.

‘There you are.’ Brad looks up, as they enter. If he is surprised to see Henriette in their quarters, he doesn’t outwardly show it. ‘You have company, I see.’

‘Tell Brad what you told me, Henriette.’ Ray urges.

‘Lock the door please, Ray.’ she says, leaning against it when he has done so.

‘What is this about?’ Brad asks her.

‘I told Ray about the Esquadron Volant. Queen Catherine wants to know what Sir Francis is up to at her court and why you are all here. She told us all.’

‘She told us all? You are a member of this group?’

She gives a graceful shrug. ‘Yes. It’s true.’

‘And yet you came here of your own free will-‘

She meets his eyes, absolutely fearless. ‘I did.’

‘Why?’ He wants to call Sir Francis, but there must be a reason why they both have come to him first. 

‘The fact of the matter is I don’t like what’s going on.”

“You have moral scruples?” Brad mocks her subtly.

“I don’t want to be in the Esquadron anymore. To be utterly honest with you, I was never any good at it. I never took it as seriously as the other girls.’

‘You make it sound like a vocation!’

‘Shush, Ray. Go on.’

‘The esquadron is the only way for an ambitious girl at court to get ahead. Seduce your mark, find out all you can about him, and try to influence, or blackmail him to do her will.’

“And Catherine wants you to spy on us?”

Henriette laughs grimly. “Me? No, I’m not so high up in the hierarchy that she would entrust an assignment like this to me. She’s got Anne-Marie de Guise to try and spy on you, and now Charlotte de Sauve wants some of the action too. I must say, you and the team are quite in demand at the moment.”

Brad sincerely hopes Lord Walsingham never hears about the Esquadron and their plans for the team. Judging by his plan to make Walt be Margot’s lover, he’d be stripped and bound for Anne-Marie de Guise’s pleasure in a day.

 

‘Ray?’

He’s writing at the desk, translating some code.

‘Do you believe her tales?’ Brad asks.

He shrugs, putting down his quill. ‘Well, I have no reason not to. I heard Charlotte de Sauve try to persuade Henriette to help her. She was pretty intent on the matter. Two thousand crowns she and Anne-Marie de Guise are competing for if you would believe it to get into your bed. Catherine must be very keen to find out what we are doing here.’

Brad is troubled. This is the last thing he and the team need, a gaggle of horny women following their every move; trying to distract and allure them with their courtly feminine wiles. How on Earth are they meant to find the killers like this?

‘Why does she want to help us? She gave us the key to de Guise’s office at the Hôtel de Guise. It just doesn’t make any sense why she should go out of her path to help us.’ He broods. ‘And no: ’she’s madly in love with me’ doesn’t cut it.’

‘You heard what she said. Maybe Henriette wants out of the esquadron?’

‘This is exactly what I’m trying to avoid. Being trapped in their games. It’s bad enough that Walt and Nate have to play their sordid little games, but do we have to get dragged down too? When we have so much to do, and so little time to achieve it?’

‘We don’t have a choice. We’re at their court, we have to play by their rules.’

‘If I had a choice, I would go home tomorrow. This is impossible-‘ Brad says in frustration.

‘Sir Francis wouldn’t have called for us if he didn’t think we could handle this.’

‘You’re not going to get too involved with this Henriette?’

Ray grins. ‘Brad, come on. It’s just a bit of fun, and you can’t deny she’s come in quite useful so far, eh?’

 

When Brad and Ray go to Nate’s quarters that night, he makes up his mind that he is going to have this out with him. Get to the bottom of this mystery once and for all. He’s just curious enough to size the situation up first. See what he can glean from his observational skills.

The first thing he notices as Nate lets him in is the richness of the decor. Nothing overly flashy or foolishly flaunting the wealth earned from Lord Walsingham in his service, but everything from the wall-hangings, the items of exquisitely tailored clothes to the furnishings spell expert craftmanship and good taste. There’s no way this is a mere servant’s room, not once you looked twice at it.

“Somebody’s done well for themselves.” remarks Ray, quiet enough that only Brad can hear as Nate busies himself pouring wine and pulling out chairs.

“I’m sure Sir Francis pays him well enough for his services.”

Most servants and even nobles are content with a poky little room at the palace. Nate must be high in favour if he is able to command a chamber like this for himself. Let alone one so near to his mistress.

Ray is looking round the room as curious as ever.

“Hey, check this out. He’s got a seriously big library here.”

He bounds up and starts perusing the shelves. “Seneca, Eramus, Bede, Bocaccio, Dante, Aristotle, Plato, Ovid, Ronsard, Cicero. We’re talking seriously well-read. Some of these are rare first editions. I have to say Brad, even I’m impressed.”

Brad sits on the bed, picking a book from in between the covers. He opens it up and notes the inscription: ‘To my Sun. With love from your Daisy.”

He frowns as he recognises the hand writing. 

“Ray,” he nods him over while Nate is still busy.“Look at this.”

Ray whistles. “They’re gifts. Must be.”

"Most of these have an inscription. It looks like Margot has a thing for writing in books, well, we know that already.”

“To my troubadour? To Daisy, who loves to write in my books?”

“Nate’s written back to her here, they must swap books or something.”  
For some reason Brad doesn’t like it. Evidence of an intimacy between the two of them. What is Nate doing with this dangerous little flirt and can’t he see that he risks endangering the mission?

“I’m going to ask him what’s going on.”

Walt looks appalled. “Brad, you can’t!”

By the stubborn set of his chin and the taut line of his mouth Walt can see he’s just said the wrong thing to his team leader.

“Just watch me, Lord Hasser. Just watch me.” He says with a glint in his eye.

 

“So what’s the story with you and the princess?” Brad asks. He’s trying to be casual about it but he knows he can’t be. _You too invested, Colbert, you care too much abou the answer. Walk away._ Yet he already knows that he can't.

Nate gives him an amused smile. “She’s a friend.”

Brad’s eyebrow raises, but he just about manages not to make a sarcastic comment about it.

“We grew up together. I’ve known her since I was a child in skirts. There’s really nothing else to it.”

Brad knows for a fact Nate is lying through his teeth, and he'd love to be able to call him on it but the team need his intelligence and the contacts he has at court. As much as Brad can't truly trust Nate right now, the team need him too much.

‘Can I ask you a personal question?’

‘Depends on what the question is, Brad.’ Nate says evenly. 

Brad doesn’t know how to ask this. He doesn’t even know whether he is the person who should ask this, considering Nate and how he feels, but he doesn’t have a choice. If he’s messing round with Margot and she is passing information back to her mother, then frankly he’s a danger to the team.

‘When did you start sleeping with Margot?-‘

Nate’s face goes pale.He can see the blood drain from that too fair complexion.

‘No, Brad-‘ he shakes his head and starts to walk away.

He's not prepared to take that for an answer, he unthinkingly he reaches out to grasp his wrist to restrain him. ‘Why not? You are, aren’t you? You’re her lover too. Damn, no wonder you were so prickly to Walt at the beginning. Were you jealous?’

‘We’re not going to go here.’Nate says firmly wresting his wrist from Brad's grasp. There's something in his voice telling him to leave well alone. _Don't push this_ he almost seems to be saying, _for you will not like the result._

Brad feels that urge to push Nate’s buttons once again. Just to see how far he can.

‘Why was Catherine so lenient about your sexual relationship with her daughter. They’re all in on the secret aren’t they? Charles turns a blind eye, because he spoils his sister rotten. Anjou is jealous of her hold on you for some reason. Catherine winks at your relationship even though you scarcely try to hide it, now I know where to look. If your secret relationship had been exposed at court. ? It would have been a problem if you had got her pregnant. But she never seems to have worried about this fact. Neither does Margot. Why?’ 

‘I don’t want to talk about this.’ Nate says stubbornly.

“Nate?”

Nate turns to him, thoroughly rattled now. “I’m not talking about this. It’s none of your business, Lord Colbert.”

“It’s my business when it affects my team!”

Nate turns to him half angry, half appraising. “Oh, so this is what this is about? Your concern for the team? Be grateful, my lord, that you are not enmeshed in these intrigues and steer clear.” He walks away before Brad can protest.

* * *

‘Come in.’

Anne -Marie enters Catherine’s office and sinks into a deep curtsey.

‘Your Majesty.’

‘Mademoiselle de Guise.’ She replies, cool as ever.

She looks up at the Queen Mother’s face trying to gauge her mood from the set mask of her severe face.

‘Rise and take a seat, my dear.’ She says with deceptive kindness. ‘We must talk.’

‘Your Grace, I know you are unhappy with me at the moment, but-‘

‘And how do you know,’ asks Catherine evenly.’-that I am disappointed with you, just yet? I haven’t heard what you have to report back to me, have I?’She leans forward, fixing the younger woman in her dark penetrating gaze.

‘Anne-Marie, tell me what’s going on. Have you made any progress with Lord Colbert?’  
Anne-Marie looks down, ashamed of her failure so far to make an impression on Brad’s ice-cold, yet beautiful façade.

“He is polite, but so far I-”

“You know, Madame de Sauve is convinced you’re simply not trying hard enough. That you don’t want him enough.” 

Anne-Marie’s fair face flushes with anger. “She would say that, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes, I had noticed a certain amount of competition between the two of you regarding this matter. Now Anne-Marie, you are one of our great beauties. One of my best operatives. Why do you think that you have failed to succeed so far?”

Anne-Marie fidgets, obsessively pulling at a strawberry blond curl. ‘It’s not as simple as throwing yourself at the man. He treats everyone the same way be they maid or duchesse; with the same indifferent courtesy.’

“So you do not think you can allure him?”

Anne-Marie raises her chin defiantly, eager to prove herself. “It may be harder than I at first anticipated, but I will not give up, your Majesty. Charlotte is making a tricky job harder with her posturing. She bet me two thousand crowns I couldn’t do it, and she would get him before I did.”

“So what do you want me to do about that?” 

Anne-Marie is under no illusions that Catherine hasn’t put Charlotte up to this challenge to her dominance.

“I would like you to tell her to back off, your Majesty. I don’t appreciate challenges to my position. Just because she’s had a few easy triumphs doesn’t mean she is the best. As for bragging about her conquest of Henri de Navarre and boasting how you offered her a fortune if she succeeded-”

Catherine takes Anne-Marie’s mild accusation with a shameless smirk. “Oh she mentioned that, did she? That was indiscreet of her.”

“I know I can do this, Madame. I know it! Please have faith in me, I have never let you down.”

Catherine pats her hand. “Do not fret, my dear. Any support that you need… Is there anything else? Any information I need to know?”

Anne-Marie remembers Henriette’s conversation where she was so reluctant to mention Nate. It might be nothing, but it’s worth a shot.“Henriette de Nevers mentioned something about Nate; you know, Margot’s sweet troubadour.”

“What about him? I swear that woman does nothing but prattle. I wonder how Margot can stand it. Never takes anything seriously.”

“She might be a flighty thing, but on the sly she’s made more progress than either of us have with Walsingham’s team. It seems she’s already slept with one of the group, and she revealed – by a slip of the tongue, of course- that Lord Colbert is very taken with Nate.”

Catherine’s eyes gleam distastefully. “Really? You think this is a case for ‘Les Mignons’?”

“I’m not so sure, your Grace.”

Catherine frowns. ‘You said he was interested in Nate, didn’t you?’

‘Yes-‘

‘Well then, he likes men. Terrible disappointment for you girls. I imagine half the ladies at court will be heartbroken, but what can you do? And-‘ she pauses for effect. ‘-Won’t Charlotte’s nose be _quite_ out of joint?’

The two women share a malicious smile.

‘I’ll meet with my boys, and-‘

‘I don’t think he’s in love with men, as much as he is with Nate.’ Anne-Marie bursts out hurriedly.

‘How ‘taken’ is he with him?’ asks Catherine offhandedly writing a note in the margin.

‘I haven’t observed them in any great detail as yet, but I do notice he can’t take his eyes off him. Next time Nate’s performing , see for yourself. I know they converse a lot as they speak the same language. They seem to have become quite cordial.’

‘Can’t take his eyes off him … That’s quite promising. Keep up the good work, Anne-Marie.’ She ponders this new opening. ‘Well, Nate is a fine-looking lad, always has been. If only I could get to him! He’d be a perfect candidate for ‘Les Mignons’. What man or woman could resist him?’

‘So why haven’t you recruited him, if I may ask?’

‘I know he tells Margot everything. His loyalty will always be to her. If she thinks I’m trying to corrupt her sweet troubadour she’ll kick up a fuss. I cannot afford to have her acting up before the marriage. Not when so much is at stake. ‘

‘You could not persuade him to join ‘Les Mignons’? Everyone has their price.’

‘It seems Master Fick is a man of morals and wouldn’t even countenance it. I offered him the chance once. Of course he told Margot everything. I would rather not repeat the temper tantrums that resulted.’

Anne-Marie can’t help being surprised. ‘You tolerated this from her?’

Catherine’s smile was devoid of all feeling. ‘He is the most effective way to control her. She adores him, and he is utterly devoted to her. The merest thought that I might do anything to harm that gorgeous boy is the swiftest, sharpest way to bring that stubborn girl to heel. It works every single time.’

‘She loves him?’ She is surprised to hear her mistress talk so candidly about her daughter. I must be back in favour. Queen Catherine would never share such classified information with a lucky amateur like Charlotte de Sauve!

‘Make no mistake, Anne-Marie. She sleeps with your brother because she loves a bad boy and that jade knows the king and I disapprove of any match between them. Lord Hasser-‘

‘Another gorgeous man. Is Elizabeth growing them in a hothouse?’ quips Anne-Marie.

Catherine ignores her. ‘-Well, he’s a passing fancy that will blow itself out, one last show of sexual defiance. But it will not last. He is too decent and honest. She will get bored in a couple of months like she always does, but he suits my purpose, so I’m prepared to turn a blind eye to all that.’

‘But Nate?’

‘She loves him.’ Catherine says simply. ‘They’ve been inseparable since childhood, and I honestly believe if she was not a Valois, and he was not a humble musician at my court, that girl would marry him tomorrow.’

‘Do you think they’re-‘

‘What?’

‘Sleeping with each other?’

Catherine’s laugh is full of malice. ‘This is Margot we’re discussing here, of course they are. To her credit, they’re very discreet about it. She is not stupid enough to get pregnant out of wedlock, and if she has any doubts, she has enough sense to take care of it. That at least I have taught her.’

Anne-Marie sits quietly, mind processing the information. Her assignment has just become a lot more complex, but now she has the key to the mystery, she feels more confident. She loves the challenge. 

‘So you see, if Nate really is falling for Lord Colbert, this makes things that much more interesting; don’t you think, Anne-Marie?’

She doesn’t know what to say to that. As always Catherine is three steps ahead of the game, weaving her web of deceit and intrigue and waiting for her prey to become thoroughly enmeshed.

‘Yes, Madame-‘ she says unsurely.

‘Because, if what you say is true, you’ve just handed me the perfect weapon to control my rebellious daughter if she refuses to marry Henri de Navarre. Imagine how hurt she will be when she finds out the man she adores and relies on above all others is helplessly in love with another man. How that girl’s poor heart will break-‘

Despite herself Anne-Marie feels a shiver. For once she pities Margot with all her heart. To be the target of all that venom and malice. From her own mother!

‘We should meet again, Anne-Marie once you’ve found out any new developments. You might not have got Lord Colbert into bed yet, but you’ve proved quite useful. Please shut the door on your way out.’

 

Brad saddles up Ombre fondly scratching his ears.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’ says a high sweet voice behind him. Brad turns. It’s that Madeleine girl, all huge downcast blue eyes and blushing cheeks. Right now she’s almost peony pink as he looks at her.

‘Not at all.’ He replies, polite as ever.

‘I’ve just come in from a ride. I always step in and have a look at your horse. He’s a magnificent creature, isn’t he? Such personality and spirit.’

He’s rather surprised that Ombre is pleased to see her, whickering in delight as she strokes one gauntleted hand down his nose. He even noses her hand roughly for a treat giving a little whinny as she produces half a carrot from a pocket which he devours with a crunch.

‘No more today, sweetheart-‘ she says with a laugh.

‘I’m surprised you weren’t terrified by him. Most women get apprehensive confronted with a full size warhorse like this. I have to ride a horse like him because of my height.’

‘My father has some horses like this in his stable. That’s how I made friends with your horse. I was feeling a little homesick-‘ her voice trails off sadly.

Brad briefly wonders if this is a subtle but clever ploy by the esquadron to gain his attention, but the interest and enthusiasm on her face and in her voice tell a different story.

‘I don’t really get a chance to ride as often as I’d like. My duties as Lady-in-Waiting take up a lot of my time. But I just had to get out of the palace and gallop for a bit. There’s nothing better.’ He finds himself smiling in sympathy. In all honesty he knows the feeling all too well. It seems a long time since he was back home riding on the moors, just him, the wind and his horses. No one around as far as the eye can see.

‘Sweet Freedom-‘ he says, almost to himself.

‘You know how it feels.’ She gifts him with a slow sweet smile.

‘I should go-‘ says Madeleine with a reluctant last caress of Ombre. ‘Have a good one, won’t you?’

 

Brad rides out to the edge of the forest, thinking about things. He lets Ombre have his head as he thinks about the case and how little progress he’s made so far. Not that Sir Francis has said anything yet. He’s here with them, in the same boat. Still, he doesn’t like being out of his depth. Not 100% in control.

Maybe I should make more effort to socialise with the court. Sir Francis is right, much as I hate to admit.

On the other hand, I don’t really like the company. I’m not gregarious by nature unlike Ray, who will happily chat to anyone be he duke, prince or commoner with equal facility. His sharp wit and endless vocal dexterity quickly gained him the favour of the court.  
I’m not like Nate with his kindness, empathy and endless patience. He’d noticed that since they had joined the court there were very few who had a bad word to say about the agent. Only the likes of Alençon and de Guise, and that could easily be attributed to sheer jealousy and insecurity of his looks and talent. 

The women all seem to adore him: constantly trying to divert his attention with their petty intrigues and woes. No matter how busy he was, and Brad surmises that with all the reconnaissance work Sir Francis has Nate doing in secret, he must be very busy, he always makes time for them, bringing a smile to a pretty face. The only way he must be able to get it done is with the extensive burning of midnight oil. Working for Margot must be demanding, with her endless demands for attention and affection.

Maybe there’s something in his approach, Brad concedes, turning Ombre back towards the palace. He knows he should be making friends with Anne-Marie de Guise plying her for information on her family and their plans but he’s reluctant to, to be honest. She seems too ambitious, too brittle and spiky. There’s something almost rapacious in the way she looks at him, like she wants to devour him whole. It makes him shudder.

He catches Madeleine up before she goes back into the palace.

‘Hello again.’

She looks up at him, the summer sunlight highlighting her golden hair.

‘Lord Colbert-‘ she blushes charmingly.

‘May I walk you back to the palace, Mademoiselle?’

It’s a humble start, but it will do.

‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’ She stammers, her eyes spellbound by his smile.

He takes her hand in his and they walk up the path to the palace.

 

Margot and a bevy of her ladies in waiting are in the bower indolently sitting round soaking up the sun when they see Brad and Madeleine pass toward the palace.

Anne-Marie and Charlotte stare at the sight, utterly discomfited by the emergence of a rival, however humble for Lord Colbert’s affections .

‘What’s this?’ Charlotte’s face is outraged. ‘Madeleine de Rochechouart flirting with Lord Colbert like the designing little wench that she is!’

Henriette fails to suppress a smile at the irony of Charlotte de Sauve calling anyone a ‘designing wench’. 

_Ah, the taste of your own medicine is not so sweet, eh?_

‘They’re just walking back to the palace, Charlotte. Nothing to fret about.’

Anne-Marie is watching them very closely. _Very interesting,_ she thinks, _So Sir Brad likes the demure type. I can do that! I can be demure!_

‘They’re talking to each other! He’s smiling at her! What the hell have they got to talk to each other about?’

Margot catches Henriette’s smirk and her mouth twitches in response. They studiously refuse to look at each other, lest they burst into gales of laughter.

‘What’s so funny, Henriette de Nevers?’ she says tartly. She hasn’t forgiven her for her lack of co-operation to get Brad, not by any means.

Henriette is laughing so hard she’s nearly doubled over with the sheer effort of keeping it in.‘Nothing-‘ she manages to squeak out before fleeing the scene.

* * *

Margot storms into Anjou's apartments. He raises his crystal cut goblet as he sees her.

"A glass of wine?" he says idly with a sardonic smile that makes her want to slap the paint off his cheeks in her fury. "This is an excellent vintage, my sister. Goes down a treat-"

"How dare you!" she snaps, not willing to play the game.

He smirks maddeningly at her, trying to provoke her foul mood even further. "How dare I what, Margot?"

"You know what you've done." she snaps back.

"Please enlighten me, as frankly entertaining as you are when you get mad."

Margot pokes him fiercely in the chest. "You attacked Nate in the garden. Harassing him for no reason. Don't think that I don't know what you've done. You do it to annoy and irritate me. Because you know that he is mine and there is nothing you can do about it."

His smile broadens unrepentantly."Really, did he run to you and tell you that? Poor hard done by Nathaniel?"

"He didn’t need to tell me. I saw you after the performance, sliming up all over him. You can't keep your hands off, can you?"

"Do you blame me, my sister? Blame me for desiring that gorgeous lad beyond all reason? Because that would be quite hypocritical of you, seeing as you still share his bed. Don't you?"

Her cheeks flush but she stands her ground, drawing herself up haughtily. "This has nothing to do with me and my relationship with Nate."

"Doesn't it?" he remarks, eager to score a point. "Because I believe you are jealous. Very unattractive trait Margot, I hope you aren't going to cause any jealous scenes with your new husband?"

"Jealous? He doesn't want your attentions! When are you going to get that into your head, Alexandre-Edouard! Nate fears you. Why would he willingly let you touch him?"

"Why would he fear me?" he asks mock innocently to provoke her even further.

"You know why!-"

“Mon Dieu, the man holds a grudge!” grumbles Anjou. “I haven’t even had sex with him yet!”

“There are some things that cannot be forgotten.” She flashes back. “You of all people should be able to understand that.”

They stare at one another, neither saying a word.

“Ah, when you talk like that you remind me of former times...” one pale pampered hand runs down her bare arm. “Sweet former times, when I made you rouse to me-“

Despite the summer heat she shivers, the goosebumps popping up on her arms at his touch.  
“Don’t touch me; I’m still mad at you.” She grits out, snatching her arm away.

“Ah, sweet Margot, do you still hold a grudge too?”

“I cannot forget, and I will never forgive, Alexandre Edouard! Never! So keep away from me, and from Nate. Got it?”

He pouts at his failure to bend her to his will. “He’s lucky to have so many to jump to his defence and enter the lists for the sake of his honour.When he’s got Lord Colbert ready and willing to slay dragons on his behalf-”

As she freezes, he smiles in triumph. He knows he’s got to her at last.“Ah, he neglected to tell you about that, didn’t he?” says Anjou thoroughly enjoying himself at his sister’s discomfiture. “You have to ask yourself why that would be? He’s not keeping secrets from you? Making a fool of his mistress?”

“You are so transparent, aren’t you? Nothing you say will turn me against him. He is my friend. I care for him and trust him, far more than I ever trusted you. So don’t even waste your time.”

She marches away with her nose in the air. Anjou merely stares after her, a calculating smile breaking out on his face as the door slams behind her.

* * *

Catherine is still sitting at her desk scribbling her cryptic notes when there is a knock on the door.

‘Enter!’ she calls out, knowing that the only people who would dare to come to see her without an appointment during working hours are Maddalena or one of her children.

Margot stands in the doorway, a defiant tilt to her chin, the gleam of battle in her dark blue eyes.‘Mother, we need to talk-‘

‘Not now, Margot. I’m busy.’

The stubborn girl refuses to be fobbed off. ‘When? This is important.’

She looks up, unwelcoming and impatient. ‘Do we have to do this now? Why don’t you run along and amuse yourself? Go and find your friends.’

‘I’m to be married in a matter of weeks, Mother.’

She relents. ‘Come in and shut the door if you’re so insistent.’

Margot sits in the chair opposite, poised for battle, back straight like a queen.

‘What is so important that you had to interrupt me?’ her mother says.

“I beg you and my brother to reconsider offering me to Henri de Navarre in marriage.”

‘It is your brother’s will and mine that you marry him. You would not disobey your brother, would you Margot?’

‘It is not he who will have to marry Henri de Navarre.’ She says defiantly.

‘Marguerite-‘

She’s too angry to heed the warning in her mother’s cold voice. ‘Why can you not listen to what I say? Why must you run roughshod over my feelings? My objections? Henri de Guise is an honourable man, of good enough family. Why can I not marry him? It’s not as if I’m throwing myself away on a penniless man. I am not dishonouring my position. Claude married a de Guise- ’

‘He’s not good enough for Charles-‘ Catherine says rather crushingly.

‘He’s Prince de Joinville, for Christ’s sake! How is that not good enough?’

‘Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, young lady!’

‘I raise my voice, because you’re not listening! You never listen!’ Her voice cracks with sheer frustration.

“Since the king wants you to marry Henri de Navarre, for the sake of peace, you will do your duty and do as we command.”

“I am a woman too! Does that mean you can use me as a pawn in your games? I’m your daughter. Do you not care about letting me have some happiness in my life?” 

“You are a Princess of the blood, a Valois. It is your duty to marry where your king sees fit. Now I don’t want to hear any more about it. You will marry Henri de Navarre without complaint. After all, what are you now? Nineteen years old? Not getting any younger, are you, dear daughter? You should count yourself fortunate your brother cares enough about you to arrange a marriage of some prestige. The time was, when we feared that if anyone knew the truth about you, you’d never be married.” Her voice lowers to a bitchy drawl. “-No man would have you. Not even your darling Nate. Princess or not. You’re tainted goods.”

Margot’s face is drained unhealthily pale.“You promised that you’d never speak of it.” She whispers, cut to the quick.

“Truth hurts, does it?”

“How can you say such things? To me, your daughter? You delight to hurt me again and again. You are an unnatural woman, a heartless mother. You love no one but your Anjou. Well I am your child too! Do I not deserve your love?”

Catherine twists the knife, delighted to expose Margot’s weakness. “What have you ever done to deserve my love? All you have ever done is be a trouble to me.”

* * *

Sir Brad is walking in the garden when he sees the king walking his dogs in the same direction. He slows down so he can catch up with him.

“Lord Colbert, a pleasure to see you.”

“Sire-” he bows, genuinely pleased to see the young monarch and to observe he seems quite stable today. Looking at him, one would scarcely guess he had any problems at all. Just an ordinary man walking his dogs on a summer’s morning.

“Risque-Tout! Actéon! Heel! These damn dogs! I had to get away from the palace today. The atmosphere was stifling me!” he confides .

“You are welcome to join me, Sire, if you wish.”

“Why, thank you!” Charles smiles and falls into line with Brad.

“I have much to do if we are to ready the troops for the Netherlands campaign. Coligny tells me that funding has been found by some miracle. We shall at least be able to do some good for the poor beleaguered people of that province.”

Godfather up to his tricks in Strasbourg, thinks Brad.

“What does your mother think of your plan? I can’t imagine she is too pleased, for all she preaches religious toleration.”

“She doesn’t like him. She doesn’t like anyone who shows love for me, and she distrusts him intensely.”

“Because she is jealous?” Brad asks.

“No, because she resents anyone who dares to show me any affection. It is just as well, she does not know how friendly we are, or you would be under more scrutiny than you already are, I warrant.”

Brad is clever enough to heed the subtle warning from the king. He has no intention of coming under Catherine’s range of fire.

“I should like to meet this Coligny, Sire. I’m sure Sir Francis would like to as well.”

“You should.” Charles agrees warmly. Brad is surprised to hear love in his voice as he speaks of Coligny. Charles cares deeply for this man. “He is the best of men. I think you would get on very well with him. He is a Protestant like you.”

 _Not quite like me. If you only knew,_ thinks Brad.

“What does he think of the forthcoming wedding, if I may ask?”

“Well, he doesn’t like it.” Charles says with a note of hesitation. Brad fancies that Charles sounds almost guilty. “But I am doing it for good reasons. For Peace. Isn’t that the main thing? For Peace?”


	15. Preparing for the Masque

Nate sits at the harpsichord, ready to start the audition.

‘Welcome all. All I want you to do this afternoon is sing 16 bars, or a stanza, just so I get a good idea of your capabilities. There are many parts up for grabs, so let’s hear some good performances.’ 

The ladies line up, eager to show what they can do. Once again, Brad marvels at Nate’s patience with the women as he accompanies them on the keyboard.

He hopes Charlotte and her arrogance will not be good enough to get a role, but annoyingly Charlotte has an excellent voice, well schooled and trained. He imagines she must be Nate’s star pupil.

‘It’s obvious Margot’s going to get a part-‘ bitches Anne-Marie to a friend. ‘She always gets a part.’

‘Well, she is the princess-‘ demurs a lady-in–waiting. ‘Nate’s probably written a part specially for her .’

 

The cast are waiting by the notice board as Stafford pins the casting notice up.

“What part did I get? What role, tell me!” asks Gillone eagerly.

“Everything’s on the list. Nate wants everyone at rehearsal tomorrow and all cast off book in a week’s time. No excuses.”

Charlotte at first looks pleased at her role and then her face falls as she realises that she didn’t get the role opposite Brad. At least Anne-Marie didn’t either. That would have been too much!

“What’s this! Madeleine de Rochechouart gets to sing opposite Lord Colbert! How can that be fair.”

“Are you not pleased with your role, Madame de Sauve?” Nate asks right behind her.  
“You’re one of my best singers. I need you for the prologue, you can do that for me, can’t you?” he asks, treating her to some of his charm.

She pouts, but he’s bringing her round. “I suppose I could. For the good of the performance.”

“That’s my girl. Here’s your score.”

 

Nate’s clearing up after rehearsal, when he hears a giggling and sighing from behind the scenes. He decides to check out the source of the sound, moving soundlessly as he looks round the corner. 

Charlotte’s violet damask skirt is hitched up to her hips as she wraps her long legs round her lover. His breeches are down round his ankles as he pins her against the wall, driving into her willing body for all he’s worth.

‘Oh yes, Henri, that’s so damned good. Please-‘

Charlotte opens her eyes, makes eye contact with Nate. He says nothing, turning and walking away.

‘Nate-‘ she calls, but he doesn’t respond. ‘Nate, come back. Let’s talk about this!’

 

Nate’s in his room straightening up his papers when he hears a knock on the door. He instinctively knows it’s her. Charlotte would never let this lie, not when her reputation was at stake.

‘Can I come in?’ A male voice says. Nate is surprised to see Henri de Navarre in his room.

‘Your Grace.’ He says politely, rising to greet him. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’

‘Umm, I wanted to talk to you. About what you may or may not have seen back stage tonight.’

‘Seen?’

‘Madame de Sauve and I, well, you know, er… backstage.’ He sounds shifty, almost embarrassed at getting caught.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you are referring to. If you could elucidate me, Sire?’ Nate says, polite as ever. He has no intention of playing along with these amorous little games, particularly if it involves lying to his mistress.

‘You’re Margot’s servant?’

‘I am fortunate enough to have her favour-‘ he says carefully. At this point he doesn’t know what Henri knows about the extent of their relationship. He silently prays he doesn’t know the truth otherwise things could get a wee bit awkward.

‘You don’t have to tell her about you seeing Charlotte and I swiving backstage. It’d only upset her before the wedding and no one wants that, do they? Perhaps if I offered you a little incentive to forget all about it.’ He dangles a purse of gold above Nate’s desk.

‘No, sir-‘

‘Perhaps you’d like some more? You drive a hard bargain, master musician-‘

Nate rankles at his casual arrogance. As if throwing money at the problem will make everything better!

‘I do not want any of your money, Sire. Put your purse away-‘

Henri flushes at his subtle rebuke, dislike flaring in his clever dark eyes.

Charlotte bursts in. It’s fairly obvious she was listening avidly behind the door.  
‘Henri , you didn’t offer him money!’

Henri is immediately on the defensive. ‘Why not, he’s a servant? What did I do wrong?’

Charlotte tuts exasperatedly, pulling him aside. ‘Don’t you understand? He’s not just a servant! Nate is her special friend. She trusts him implicitly. They’ve been inseparable since they were children. And you insulted him by offering him gold for his silence!’ she shakes her head. ‘I’ll deal with this, Henri-‘

‘How am I meant to know the intrigues and complications of the court?’ he says petulantly.  
“You just leave this to me.” She says with her confident smile. “I’ll smooth everything out, you’ll wait and see.”

 

‘Nate?’

He really doesn’t want to get involved. It’s none of his business what Henri and Charlotte get up to in the run up to the wedding. If Henri is foolish to get involved with a member of the esquadron, then he deserves everything he gets.

‘’What did Henri say to you?’

‘I’ve already put it out of my mind. You should too, Madame de Sauve.’ He says firmly. ‘ Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.’

Charlotte doesn’t seem to get the hint, draping herself over him invading his personal space. Nate has no qualms she would attempt to flirt with him to get her own way. Typical Esquadron antics. “So very formal …You do understand, don’t you? Henri is new to court. He doesn’t quite get the nuances of the relationships at court, you see. Being brought up at Pamplona, which is practically the sticks-”

Nate stays very still. Is Charlotte dense enough to attempt to threaten him? ‘Charlotte, you speak in riddles. I would ask you to speak plainly.’

She attempts to stare him down, but Nate’s faced worse opponents than this. Enemies she’s never dreamed of.

‘You’re clever enough to hold that mellifluous tongue of yours. Especially since you have secrets of your own, which you wouldn’t like bruited abroad at a time like this.’

 _So she is dumb enough to try it. She’ll never succeed in the esquadron if she plays her hand so soon,_ thinks Nate. “To accuse someone you need proof. You have none, Charlotte, and never will have.”

“Are you going to stand in front of me and deny?-“

“Deny what, Charlotte?” he says with perfect politeness.

“That you are sleeping with Margot!” she hisses in exasperation, “That you and her have been lovers for a long time, years probably. And the Queen Mother, for reasons best known only to herself knows what is going on and turns a blind eye to the scandal.”

Nate is remarkably unfazed by her wild accusations. “That’s a lot of accusation considering that you have not the slightest shred of concrete evidence, Madame de Sauve.”

She says nothing for now; merely making a scornful sound.

“A word to the wise, Charlotte: Lady Margot knows you are dallying with her husband to be already. Right now I would advise you not to do anything to endanger your position in her entourage. For you are on very thin ice. Do you understand me?” Though Nate remains courteous, there’s steel behind his words and Charlotte knows it .

“You’re threatening me?” she says with an incredulous pop of her dark eyes. “The sweet innocent troubadour has claws?”

“I wouldn’t call it a threat. Call it a ‘friendly suggestion’ instead.”

* * *

As Charlotte passes Henri on her way back to rehearsal, her hand lingers on the protuberance of his codpiece in an unmistakable gesture of ownership. Brad notices the goofy smile that spreads over the young king’s face and decides he should have this out with him as soon as possible.

Brad doesn’t quite know how to broach the subject with Henri, but someone has to. 

‘Are you having a relationship with Madame de Sauve?’ he asks bluntly. No point in pussyfooting about it.

By the broad grin that spreads over the lad’s face. Brad knows his worst instincts were right. How could Henri be so foolish?

‘Please tell me that you jest.’ Brad groans.

‘Of course not! She’s marvellous, isn’t she? One of the most ravishing of court ladies and she seems to want me.’ Henri grins.

Yet again Brad mentally curses Sir Francis for delegating this duty to him. ‘Have you forgotten you are due to marry Princess Marguerite in a matter of weeks?’

‘Oh that! I know for a fact cousin Margot wants nothing to do with me. If she has her own way she’ll be glad if the Pope refuses to let us marry.’ Henri says carelessly.

‘The Pope still hasn’t granted the dispensation?’ Brad asks, careful as ever. This is not the official party line as spread by the king and Catherine .

‘No.’ Henri says cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just revealed a potential international incident. ‘If I know that interfering old goat Pope Gregory XIII, he won’t do it either. Not even to please my cousin the King. It would be an abomination to sacrifice their fair Catholic princess to my uncouth clutches and I know the Cardinal de Bourbon won’t hold the ceremony without the document in his hand. Never mind that every man in France knows she is hardly a maiden. I think half of Paris has probably had her by now.’

‘So you know about her reputation, then?’

Henri scoffs, but says nothing.

* * *

Brad still can’t get over the fact that Charles and Catherine are going ahead with the wedding, despite the fact that there is no dispensation from the Pope. In legal terms, the authorities could easily claim the marriage illegal and void. Where will that leave Henri and Margot? Something rotten is going on here and Brad knows he’ll have to get to the bottom of it. The two cases, the de Guise plot and the doomed royal marriage are starting to become ever more interlinked.

 

‘Sir Francis. I just heard something very disturbing from Henri. I felt we should discuss this as soon as possible.’

‘Of course Brad, come in. Take a seat.’ His boss is sat at his desk in his shirt-sleeves. He looks like he has been up for most of the night. 

‘These cases are interlinked. I know it. I just can’t work out what they are planning.’  
Sir Francis is alert. ‘You think they are connected? Go on-‘

‘Think about it. Charles and Catherine marry off his sister to a protestant Prince, in the name of peace but they know they are giving him a bad bargain. They do it, despite the fact they know without a dispensation from the Pope, the union is likely to be declared illegal. We have a group of prominent Protestant leaders here for the wedding in a city which is fiercely Catholic. Coligny’s brother waits with an army outside the city. Fanatics like Simon Vigor are free to preach hate and brimstone from their pulpits. It’s a powder keg waiting to happen, and de Guise is primed to take full advantage. Something happens to the Protestants and she is free to marry de Guise, as she always claims she wanted.’

‘Do you think the family planned the entire thing?’

‘Who?’

‘Margot and de Guise marrying after the disaster of the Navarre wedding. And once de Guise is in a position of power, he is free to strike at our Queen and help his kinswoman Mary Stuart to the throne. A marvellous coup, considering we thought his family were on the wane.’

‘What did Henri tell you? I know he said something to you which you found useful.’

‘We were discussing Henri’s unfortunate fling with Charlotte de Sauve.’

‘What did you say to him? I can’t imagine he listened to you. That woman has got her claws well and truly stuck into that boy. Thank God you were at least warned about the Esquadron Volant. Ray’s infatuation with Henriette de Nevers did yield some useful fruit.’ 

Brad doubts that Ray and Henriette had any relationship at all. It was a just a business transaction and a very lucrative one for the team. He still doesn’t trust her though.‘He let slip that Pope Gregory has not issued a dispensation for the marriage.’

‘If he hasn’t by now, he is unlikely to. And Catherine and the king are lying about it to force the wedding through.’ Sir Francis sighs. ‘No wonder Sir Henry Norreys left, unable to take any more of their duplicity. How can you deal in good faith with these people, when they are determined to deceive every step of the way?’

‘Where does that leave us?’ Brad asks. He’s not sure that he wants to know.

‘Stuck in the middle of two warring factions, trying to negotiate peace so we can smooth the way for an alliance between Alençon and Elizabeth.’

Brad is appalled by the prospect of Alençon marrying his queen. Elizabeth entering into any sort of marriage agreement with the spoilt young prince. In fact the thought of Elizabeth anywhere near the Valois family, who are as dysfunctional a royal bunch as he’s ever had the dubious pleasure to meet is positively terrifying. 

Charles was pleasant enough that day at the hunt but he has obvious emotional and psychological problems. Anjou and Alençon are possibly two of the most unpleasant specimens he’s come across in a long time, and as for Margot, volatile, charming, manipulative Margot… 

‘Sir Francis!’

Francis is still calm. ‘You sound horrified, Brad.’

‘May I speak candidly, Sir? Between ourselves?’

‘Of course you can, you know I value your judgement.’

‘Her Majesty cannot be seriously considering marriage with him?’

‘It’s politically expedient for the alliance to go ahead. As to whether Elizabeth actually goes through with it, well, that’s a different matter. We must all go along with this polite fiction for the sake of diplomacy.’

‘The people will never accept a man like that as their king. A Catholic! His personality is entirely wrong for a prospective husband for Elizabeth. Not to mention a potential king of England.’

‘It could have been a lot worse-‘ Sir Francis says with a grim little smile. ‘Originally, Catherine wanted the alliance to be between Elizabeth and Anjou. It took quite a bit of tricky negotiation to persuade Catherine otherwise. Added to the fact that he protested he would not marry a ‘putain publique’ as he dared call her among other insulting things. ’  
He looks at Brad’s disgusted face. ‘I do believe I have you lost for words. That’s not something that happens every day.’

‘I don’t see why she needs a husband. She’s ruled alone for several years and done a sterling job with the guidance of Lord Burghley and yourself.’

‘It’s not been an easy job. It’s a testament to her strength as a monarch that England hasn’t been plunged into civil war or worse. But it could all fall to pieces if she doesn’t bear a legitimate heir to shore up the throne. Mary Stuart waits for her chance at the throne and she is not averse to using underhand methods to gain it. It would suit the De Guise family very well to have three kingdoms under their grasp: Scotland, France, and England. Did you know that they also have a claim to the French throne as well?’

‘No. You think that’s the ploy instead.’ Brad is writing notes, furiously, making links, sketching out theories. “A royal takeover?” There's no need to say out loud just how dangerous that would be to their realm.This threatened poison plot would be just the beginning.

‘De Guise is the people’s hero. Do you know what the populace call him informally? The ’King of Paris’. Catherine hates and fears De Guise. He is a credible rival for the throne.’

“A far better candidate than her own degenerate sons. Strong, healthy, charismatic, a leader of men. And worse for us; resolutely, virulently Catholic.”

‘The thought that her daughter Margot wanted to marry him, well, it caused quite an uproar within the family. You see Margot may be denied a direct line to the throne under Salic Law, but her claim is still valid through marriage. Whoever weds her, takes on her claim. She may even become one of the most imprtant pieces on the board, so this union is of vital importance to France, and aye to us as well. Now do you see why Catherine was so keen to distract Margot by allowing her fling with Walt? By indulging her every desire? De Guise wants her to defy the family. He wants her so infatuated with him, she’d consider eloping. And the girl is wild enough that she just might do it, if pushed.’

‘It seems that girl is nothing but trouble. Maybe it’s just as well she is being married off to Henri.’ 

‘Brad, are you sure you not saying this because you don’t like her?’ Sir Francis asks rather too astutely.

‘I didn’t say I didn’t like her. I don’t trust her, or Henriette. It’s not the same thing.’ Brad knows he sounds defensive; he doesn’t care.

‘There’s only one way to find out whether they have that kind of relationship. How deeply is she involved in the plot, I wonder? Get Nate to find out. I’ll include it under the remit of the investigation.He'll know the right questions to winkle out the truth from her.’

Brad knows for a fact this is a bad idea too far. Nate will never betray Margot if she is an accomplice to the poison plot and the de Guise coup, not even for them. He doesn’t even want to admit it, but the knowledge is there. Nate cares for her. As much as he protests that he knows his role, in a straight conflict between their interests and hers, he knows Nate will choose Margot every time. And the thought of that bothers him more than he’d really like to admit right now.‘Sir Francis, you know he won’t do it.’

‘What do you mean he won’t do it?’

‘Nate is devoted to her. He will not betray her even if she is guilty. He can’t-‘ 

‘Why not?’

‘Because he’s in love with her. She’s probably got her claws into him as well, knowing her.’ He doesn’t care if he sounds jealous. 

‘Brad, if I didn’t know better, I would say you sound rather envious.’ 

Brad cannot believe Sir Francis can be so calm about this. ‘I’ve just told you our agent has an important conflict of interests and you don’t even seem to care? Or did you know about this already?’

‘Of course I did. Nate is acting very successfully under orders.’

It takes a lot to shock Brad, but he is actually surprised for the first time in a while. ‘You know that they are lovers? That they have probably been sleeping with each other for a while. And you’re happy with that? Did you instruct him to seduce her?’ he asks suspiciously.

‘I cannot deny, it’s worked out very well for us. She trusts him completely and her protection is priceless. Nate knows this. You know his instincts are spot on with this. I barely have to instruct him. He is the best agent I’ve ever worked with, hands down.’

‘How can he bear to sell himself?’ Brad asks himself, appalled.

* * *

St Germain 1569 _They’re tiptoeing round one another now, trying not to touch inadvertedly as they get their steeds ready. He wonders if she feels the same way as he; tingling with anticipation and desire._

_She kicks her pony into a canter towards the forest. She’s intent on something, he’s not sure what but the knowledge is there._

_“What’s this all about, Daisy?”_

_She looks up at him from under her lashes. “Nate, can you keep a secret?” she asks. Her eyes are very bright with excitement._

_“What kind of secret?” he asks._

_Margot smiles, a slow knowing smile.“We’re all alone now. We managed to give’em all the slip, Nate."_

_She’s kissing him, pressing him up against the oak. Nate thinks he’ll always remember this moment. The feel of the rough bark against the back of his doublet. The light filtering through the trees. Her mouth is as sweet as he remembered it. Almost as if he’d never been away, his hands slip round her waist and pull her close. She sighs in contentment._

_Her hand slips into his breeches and grasps his prick. He gasps with longing and the sheer unexpectedness of it._

_“Daisy, what are you doing? If we get caught-” He gasps out._

_She gives his swelling cock an affectionate squeeze._

_Nate can’t help himself. If he were honest with himself he’s turned on by the danger of their amorous dallying._

_“It’ll be our little secret.” She says with a secret smile. “You can be discreet, can’t you?"_

 

_Nate knows he’s avoiding Catherine, but the thought of facing her after what happened with Margot is mortifying. There’s no way she doesn’t suspect something is going on. By some strange alchemy, she always happens to know exactly what goes on within her royal walls. Why should this be an exception?_

_Catherine is sweeping down the corridor, like a dark forbidding galleon in full sail. He shrinks into the alcove, hoping desperately that she will pass on her way, that she will not deign to take notice of him. It’s his cursed bad luck that Anjou is hanging off her arm. His sharp dark eyes notice him instantly._

_“Maman, there is Nate! If I didn’t know any better I would say he’s been avoiding you?” he says, with an accusing provoking glance at him, which leaves Nate in no doubt to the lustful core of his feelings towards his vassal._

_“Nathaniel, where have you been? We certainly felt your absence these past few days?”_

_He bows deferentially to the Queen Mother, carefully making sure he is respectful enough to Anjou but not acknowledging him any more than he has to._

_“Could I have a swift word with you, Nate? We really do need to catch up since you’ve returned to France, dear boy.”_

_Nate doesn’t dare to argue. He follows in her wake._

*

_Anjou is about to enter Catherine’s office with them when she stops him.“My dear boy, run along. I want to have a private word with Nate about something. It won’t take long.”_

_The Prince pouts at being denied his fun. “But, Maman-“_

_“Run along, Alexandre.” she cajoles him in a voice edged with steel._

 

_Nate hides his hands behind his back as soon as he enters the office, realising their trembling is a dead giveaway._

_Catherine sits behind her desk, the corner of her severe mouth curved up into a malevolent smirk. “My dear boy, we haven’t conversed for so long. If I didn’t know better, I would say that Anjou was right and you are trying to avoid me. That wouldn’t be the case, would it?”_

_Nate’s heart rises into his throat. He can feel his heart beating frantically.“I’m sorry you are displeased with me, your Majesty. I live to serve you and your family.” He says forcing himself to speak, polite as ever. The one thing he’s learned here at court and through Sir Francis is how to dissemble. Lie between his teeth. His life depends on it._

_“Now, now Nathaniel, you can do better than that. I’ll give you your due, you haven’t been back at court long.”_

_Nate looks down, praying with all his might that the ordeal will be over soon and he can leave. Immerse himself in the simplicity of the music he works with and loves. The clear mathematical purity of the notes are far easier to understand than the wiles and snares of these people._

_“How long have you been sleeping with my daughter, Nathaniel?” she asks quietly, like a dagger to the ribs. “I’m going to make it easy for you: she came to your room, late at night. She offered you her body. And you were so desperate for her that you gave in. Well, I can hardly blame you. You are a young man, in the flower of your beauty and youth. I don’t blame her for trying to seduce you.”_

_Her tongue runs over those thin lips, almost lizard-like. Nate tries to control his recoil of horror. The look on her face at that moment reminds him so sharply of Anjou the bile rises to his throat._

_“Well?”_

_“I cannot say, Ma'am-“_

_She reaches forward and imprisons his hand underneath hers. Her heavily jewelled rings dig into his hand, making him wince with pain. “Oh you adorable noble little fool, don’t you know that I know everything? Let’s cut to the chase and make this clear. Either you spill the beans and tell me exactly what happened, word for word, caress for caress with my Marguerite right now. Or I shall have no choice but to exert the maximum penalty for your transgression.”_

_“The maximum what?” He hates the way his voice inadvertently cracks with fear. There’s no doubt Catherine is perfectly capable of carrying out her threat._

_“You dared to sleep with a Princess of the Blood. A girl who we have high hopes for, Nate. Whatever made you think you’d get away with it? What would happen if she took it into her pretty head to run off with you? Or if she became with child? Do you think that Charles or Anjou will ever forgive the insult? It wouldn’t surprise me if they demanded your imprisonment in one of our securest prisons. In perpetuity.”_

_For a long moment they stare at each other. Catherine’s stare reminds him unnervingly of a basilisk waiting to seize it’s prey._

_“What do you want to know, your Grace?” he says unwillingly._

_Catherine leans forward, an unholy gleam in her eyes. Not for the first time Nate wonders whether she gains any sexual titillation from hearing about this. He’s heard the tales of the Esquadron Volant, that shadowy organisation under her leadership, of a bevy of beautiful courtesans trained to do her bidding and manipulate great men to her will. He feels trapped in the spider’s web she’s skilfully spinning round him and Margot, ensnaring both of them in her games._

_“Everything, Nathaniel. Everything.”_

 

_If Nate never thinks he’ll get over the mortification and shame of Catherine’s lascivious and inappropiate insinuations, he has no idea what is in store for him._  
 _Why on earth his door was open? He asks himself as he enters his room, looking round, for spies or intruders, wondering what enemy he must go up against now. I’m damned sure I locked it this afternoon. Who dares to let themselves in and make themselves at home, completely disregarding his right to privacy? Has he been suspected despite his best efforts to conceal the true nature of his role at court? His nose twitches at the unfamiliar scent in his room, a mixture of cloying musky perfume and incense. He looks round wary as ever, his hand going to the dagger in his doublet. His heart beating fast with the overwhelming instinct for flight or combat._

_He certainly didn’t expect to be met with the sight he did encounter. Three maids of honour sprawled nude on his bed. They giggle on his approach._

_“What are you doing here?” he asks, as he leans in his doorway suddenly feeling very weary._

_**Reneé de Chateauneuf, Anne-Marie de Guise and Elise Blondet de Gallais. This is Catherine’s doing. Esquadron girls.** _

_Renée smiles at him boldly from the bed, completely oblivious of her magnificent nudity. Nate doesn’t know where to look._

_“Her Majesty asked us to come to you, Nate. For some three on one instruction.”_

_He sits down on the bed with a heavy thud, unable to believe her blithe words. Anne-Marie’s hands wander towards his doublet, starting to slide it off his shoulders, but he shrugs off her insistent touch like a troublesome gnat._

_Elise jumps up to pour him some wine, her long lissome curves lit by the fire. “Let’s get you all relaxed.”_

_“Would someone like to explain to me in plain simple French what is going on?” He asks._

_“Her Majesty wanted to make sure that you are a skilled lover if you’re going to continue sleeping with her daughter. So she commissioned us to teach you everything we know about the arcane arts of love.”_

_“The arcane arts of what?!” he heard himself say, not believing his ears._

_“I thought you said he was clever? I’m not seeing too much evidence of it at the moment!” Reneé quips with a roguish twinkle._

_“You cannot be serious.” Nate starts, running his hand through his fox gold hair until it’s quite disordered._

_“I think you’d better read this, Nate.” Anne-Marie declares, all business-like. “Perhaps you’ll find easier to come to terms with. Elise, hand him the paperwork.”_

_“We have written instructions right here-“ Elise pipes up with such innocent enthusiasm it almost would make him smile if he weren’t in such a bind. “-and a personal letter from the Queen Mother, addressed to you.”_

_Nate raises one eyebrow as he sees the seal has already been cracked. ”Addressed to me, I see-“_

_“-I didn’t do that by the way, I’d like to point out.” Elise says with a barbed glance at Anne-Marie._

_Anne-Marie looks cross, if decidedly unrepentant. “Did you two have to tattle on me?”_

_He scans the letter, not wanting to trust his eyes as to what Catherine has written to him._

_“You know most men would be a lot more pleased with our proposal. Every red-blooded man’s fantasy. Three willing and beautiful women-“_

_“Not mine!” he grits out._

_“Surely you can’t be in love with her? In love with a princess?” laughs Anne-Marie with a bright mocking edge to her voice._

_“This is none of your business!” He knows he sounds defensive, but he doesn’t care. What he has with Margot, this fragile delicate thing is too precious to him to talk casually about._

_Elise whispers to the other girls. “Let me deal with this.” The girls pout, but they subside, letting Elise take the lead, watching her weave her feminine spell over a reluctant Nate._

_“Look, Nate-“ Elise says with a kindly squeeze of his hand. “You know the rules of the game. The terms that Catherine allows. Would you really cut off your nose to spite your face? I know this troubles you, but why not make the best of it?” She moves closer to him, her soft red lips brushing his. As his mouth makes contact with her skin, he feels as if he’s betrayed Margot already._

_“Just try it. For tonight.” Her eyes flutter languidly shut in sheer bliss. “Let me show you how to please me.”_

_"Elise, this is not a good idea-"_

_“How beautiful you are.” She whispers as her skilled practised hands start to remove his clothing. “No wonder she loves you, Nate.”_

* * *

Present-day

 

"Mother suggested we should talk." Anjou says, his eyes gleaming unpleasantly. Nate looks for a way out but the prince is blocking the exit.

"Talk? About what, sire? How can I serve you?"

Anjou's eyebrow rises almost lasciviously. "I know how you can serve me." he purrs with a hint of malice in that cultured voice.

Nate can imagine exactly what he’s thinking and fantasising about. It makes him feel sullied and unclean. He feels the flush of blood to his face, but it's too late to stop it. Anjou must know how he is getting to him.

Anjou stalks round him, making Nate feel even more like prey. He seizes Nate underneath the chin and puts his face unnervingly close to his. Nate's clear green gaze is steady, although he can't help the frantic tremble of his hands which he bunches into fists. He's on very precarious ground and he knows it.

"Do you know what turns me on so much about you? Apart from your obvious beauty?" Anjou says almost dreamily. "You face me with your chin up, even though you're terrified of what I might do to you. What I could easily do." His tongue flicks out and wipes a languorous wet stripe up Nate's face. Nate flinches from the prince's intrusively intimate gesture. The sheer arrogance that he can do whatever he likes to Nate with no consequences. 

"Yield to me, Nate. I will give you everything. Riches, Power. Such exquisite pleasure you almost could die of it-" he mutters as he plants kisses up the length of Nate's neck.

"No, no! Sire, please stop this."

"Why refuse me, when you know I want you?"

Nate stares at him defiantly as he dares.

"You sleep with Margot readily enough." he says, a petulant cruel tone to his voice as he realises Nate will never yield to him.

"With respect, Sire I serve my mistress-" Nate starts, trying to regain the upper hand.

“Don’t give me that, Nathaniel.” Anjou’s whisper is as cold and harsh as a whiplash even as he caresses his face. “I know exactly what you do with her. You’ve been with her since you’ve came back from Italy. Did she seduce you? Yes, it must have been that. You wouldn’t have attempted such a thing unless she made the first move. You’re not that stupid.”

“Sir, you misunderstand me-“

“Did you ever think that you could ever keep this a secret?” He leans forward, a malevolent gleam in his eyes. “I know everything. Do you finally understand, my dear boy? Mother tells me everything. I am the favoured one!”

* * *

Marie is hanging out the washing singing a sweet little folksy brunette to herself as she works, young Petit Charles getting under her feet as children do. 

She hears a horse approaching from the forest, whinnying as its owner ties it to a tree and dismounts with a grace that Marie can’t help envying for a moment.

Charles isn’t due to see her, not today. She wonders who it could be. Who would dare to disturb her tranquil secluded existence?

As the visitor dismounts from their bay horse, she notices that it is a woman. Marie’s fear grows. Charles always warned her about visitors and this strange female has no cause to be visiting her. Maybe I could dash inside and bolt the door until she leaves. Marie realises she’s not close enough to the house. She’s going to have to confront the intruder.

‘Hello? I think you’re lost.’ She calls into the glade.

The woman unmasks. Marie sees dark blue eyes with long straight lashes. The shape of them oddly reminds her of her dear Charles. Pampered, perfect skin. It’s hard for Marie not to be a little envious of the stranger’s flawless porcelain complexion. I bet she doesn’t have to do a stick of work. Shiny dark hair coiled up under a jaunty little velvet cap of the very latest design. Marie tries to stop the tendrils of jealousy taking a hold in her soul, but it’s hard. This mysterious woman is wealthy. I can tell. Porbably never done a stroke of work in her entire life. If I had bushels of gold I could afford to be as gloriously pampered and beautiful as this vision.

‘I’m looking for Marie Touchet? I am in the right place, aren’t I?’ Marie hears her cultured aristocratic tones and recognises the accent. A court accent. Fear runs down her back like a corpse has run it’s cold hand down it.

‘Charles, go inside please-‘ she says evenly, blocking the visitor’s view with her body.

The young boy pouts, peeking out from behind her tucked up skirts. ‘But Maman, it’s sunny. Can’t I stay?’

Fear makes Marie snap. ‘Go inside now, Charlot. I mean it!’

‘Let me see the boy, for just one moment. Please, Marie-’ the woman coaxes, a charming smile in her voice.

‘I don’t know you. How d’ye know my name? Why are you here?’ Marie says belligerently, clutching on to her son. This woman and her mysterious wiles will not work on her, as fair and intimidating as she is.

‘Why’re you not very nice to pretty lady, Maman?’ Petit Charles asks innocently, big golden hazel eyes staring right at her.

The woman kneels, gracing the child with a charming smile. ‘Do you think I’m pretty, Charles? How kind of you-’

The boy stares at her, entranced by her face. ‘You’re like picture from a book-‘ 

The woman stares at him, equally entranced. ‘Dear God, you look just like him. It’s frightening.’ She says quietly. Her fine pale hand absent-mindedly caresses his dark curls.

‘Just like who?’

‘Charles-‘ she breathes, unable to tear her eyes away from the boy.

‘I think you should leave now, my lady-‘ Marie starts. ‘I don’t know who you are, but-‘

‘I’m so sorry.’ She smiles, giving Marie the full benefit of her considerable charisma. ‘I seems to have completely forgotten my manners. I’m Marguerite.’

Marie stares at her in terror. This is worse than she would have thought. ‘Princess Marguerite. I’m so sorry-‘ she curtseys, trembling with fear.

‘Please, there’s no need-‘ Margot assures her, laying on the charm as she raises Marie. “It was I who intruded on your idyll. Such a beautiful place. So very homely. I imagine Charles loves it here. So calm and peaceful.”

“I suppose you will want refreshment, my lady?” Marie says, still sounding reluctant. 

“Yes, please. That would be very welcome indeed. Damn, it’s hot.”

 

Margot drinks from the earthenware mug in a couple of long draughts.

“Why are you here?” Marie asks. She knows she sounds unforgivably rude.

‘I wanted to meet you. Because of Charles. Look after him.” Marie is surprised at the tenderness in the princess’s voice. Perhaps she honestly does care for her brother. “He has so many things to struggle with. He needs someone who’s in his corner. Who loves him for himself.’

‘I love him!’ Marie declares. “More than anything in the world. I would love him even if he was not who he was.”

Margot looks at her. ’You do. I see that now. You may be exactly what he needs .’

"Please let me hold him. Just once." Margot looks so longing and desolate that against  
Marie's better instinct she allows it.

Margot holds out her arms to the little lad. He fixes trusting eyes at the pretty lady and runs into her arms.

Margot wraps her arms round the little boy, whispering words of love into his ear. Marie notices she is trembling with emotion, her chest heaving with silent sobs.

"My lady-"

Margot doesn't hear her. Tears start to roll down her cheeks spilling out of her eyes."If only I could have had a son- but what good does it do to weep for what cannot be-" 

Marie puts her arms round them, pity and horror roused by the princess's grief.

"Do you want to talk about this?" 

She looks up."There are some things I cannot speak of. I dare not." She gets up releasing the child, apologizing profusely to Marie for her outburst of emotion."I'm terribly sorry. I should never have come here. It was so selfish of me. But I had to see my own flesh and blood one last time before I depart."

Marie feels pity for the girl. Despite her beauty and her jewels she is as lonely as she is underneath.

"Please my lady, don't go yet. Have another glass-"

"You said something about longing for a child. Surely once you are married to your new husband you will be gifted with children. I hear Henri de Navarre is a good man. He will do his duty."

Margot just looks at her silently with brimming eyes. "I long for a child more than anything. You are so lucky to have him." She says, looking at Petit-Charles with a great and terrible longing in those big dark blue eyes.

"Do you dream of children of your own?"

Margot gives her a dreamy wistful smile, lost in reverie. "Yes. A son and a daughter. Angelic children with golden red hair, green eyes and voices to sing of the glory of heaven-" she clams up, as if realizing she has revealed too much.

"To think I envied you."

Margot's mouth quirks with surprise. "Me, Marie? Why would you envy me?"

"You're a princess. You've never had to work a day in your life. You're beautiful, you're rich. You're powerful. And I am a humble maid who lives deep in the forest waiting for the time my love can spare me. I try to be patient, but sometimes-" her voice falls as she admits something she never has out loud. "It can be so lonely, my lady."

"Everything I have is by the virtue of my mother and my brothers. In my own right I have nothing, not a sou. In truth, Marie I am no better than you." Margot rises to go. "Thank you for listening to me. I'm sorry I frightened you earlier."

Marie curtseys as Margot raises her to her feet, giving her a sisterly kiss on her cheek.

 

It's not til later as she's giving Petit Charles his dinner that Marie ponders her anguished words while her guard was down. Who could she be describing? Everyone knows her future husband is as dark as a Gasçon. She met him that day after the hunt when Charles visited with him and the golden foreigner, Lord Brad Colbert.

*

When Charles arrives that night Marie tells him immediately about Margot’s visit.

“She came here? My sister? What did she want here?”

“She said she just wanted to see her flesh and blood before she was forced to leave for Navarre and her new life with her husband.” Marie looks at him with terrified grey eyes. “I didn’t want to let her, but she charmed her way in. I’m so sorry, Charles-”

“You cannot trust her. You cannot trust any of my family. Not Margot as charismatic as she can be, Not Alençon, for sure… and certainly not Anjou, or my mother. Promise me you will have nothing to do with any of them.”

“I won’t.” she vows.

“Marie, promise me-” He’s getting more agitated, trembling with emotion. “They must never come near my boy. I want him to live a good life. To have his childhood untainted, his innocence unspoiled by the world. A mother’s love while he grows. Everything I never had.”

She holds him in her arms, soothing his troubled mind. Her calm gentle personality is just the balm that he needs. 

“Shush, my love. My lord. You must not think of your family. It upsets you so.” she croons, rocking him gently in her arms as if he was their son in need of comfort.

“Ah, Marie, how good you are to me.” He sighs. She smoothes his long brown hair away from his forehead and plants a kiss between his furrowed brows. “If only we could be a proper family. I sneak to see you for a few snatched moments. I’m afraid you have every right to feel ill-used.”

Marie is having none of it. “My Lord, why should I feel ill-used?” she says staunchly. “You come to see me and our son. You love my boy-”

“-And you, Marie. Never forget that.” He says fondly, kissing her.

She smiles, radiating in his love. “-And me, too. We want for nothing. I know you care for us both. What more do I want?”

“You wouldn’t want to be at Court?” Charles asks her. “Take advantage of your position? As royal mistress? Make your fortune like Diane de Poitiers or Anne Boleyn?”

She shakes her head. “No, my lord. I hear terrible things about the Court. Things that scare me. I am happy where I am. Why change things?”

“Marie , you are the best of women! What would I do without you?”

“Come to bed, my Lord.” she looks up at him shyly. “I missed you-”

He kisses her deeply. “-And I you, my dearest Marie.”

 

Marie lies awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“What are you pondering so deeply, fair Marie?” Charles asks, a playful note to his voice as he presses kisses to the nape of her neck. “My sweet little philosopher?”

“I was thinking about your sister-“

Marie cannot see Charles’s tense sudden stillness. She only feels the lack of his absent minded caresses.“Darling?”

“You shouldn’t think of such things.” He says eventually.

“I know, dear heart. It’s just that she looked so dreadfully unhappy. You could see it in her eyes. How she clasped our Petit Charles to her bosom and wept.”

“She wept over our son?”

“Most inconsolably. She seemed convinced that she will never have a child of her own, though I tried to tell her that once she marries, the children will follow. Tell me Charles, what can be making so unhappy?”

Charles strokes Marie’s hair. “She should never have come here.”

* * *

‘Lord Walsingham, I wanted to see you urgently.’

‘Come in Nate, you know my door is always open to you. What is it? Sit, my lad, don’t stand on ceremony-’

Nate sits down, not remotely fooled by his avuncular manner.

‘What can I help you with? D’ye need more funds? Extra Manpower?’

Nate wonders how long the genial façade will last when Sir Francis finds out what he wants. 

‘I want to renegotiate the terms of my contract, Sir.’ 

The smile fades, as he knew it would. ‘What’s brought this on, Nate?’ he says coolly.

‘I have worked for you for a long time, you know that-‘

‘-and have been more than generously paid for your work here. Am I not right?’

‘This is not about pay, Sir Francis- ‘

‘Well then, what is this all about?’

Nate is nothing but direct, grasping the nettle with both hands. ‘I will have to leave court. As you know, Princess Marguerite is getting married soon. She will leave the court for her new home in Navarre.’

‘I never planned for you to do so, Nate. It has been suggested that you join the Duc d’ Anjou’s household. I was led to believe that you knew him fairly well, and politically it will be a good idea. If Charles IX continues to struggle with his health, it is likely he will be the next king of France. A perfect position for my best agent…’

‘-Absolutely not.’ Nate says flatly.

Sir Francis blinks, astonished at Nate’s blank refusal. ‘Why?’

‘I have worked for you for a long time as my father did before me without complaint. Do you not think that I have now redeemed his debt to you, Sir?’

Walsingham’s eyes are cold. ‘No I don’t, frankly. Your father was a traitor who endangered the safety and security of his country. I extended mercy to him, and gave him and you the job of spying at court. I even paid for your musical education, so you would have a suitable cover story at court out of my own pocket-‘

‘I can pay back whatever I may owe you for my musical training. I have saved for many years, Sir. I would not be beholden to you-‘

‘Three years in Italy taught by the finest musicians in the world? Living at the French court for years, gaining a prince’s education? This is not about the money, Nate-‘ he says mockingly echoing his words.

‘So you will not release me, Sir Francis?’

‘No.’ he says, a streak of ruthlessness running through his voice. ‘You are too valuable an asset for me to lose because you seem to have lost your nerve-‘

‘I have not lost my nerve!’ he snaps, stung by the accusation.

‘Seems like it. Why have you got such an aversion to joining Anjou?’

Nate’s fair skin flushes.

‘Nathaniel, I would hate to think you have secrets from me-‘ he probes.

Nate stays stubbornly silent. Whatever happened, whatever reason he has for refusing to join Anjou’s retinue, he will not talk about it.

‘What if-‘ he says eventually. ‘-I want something more from my life than listening behind tapestries and scribbling reports in code by candlelight? Of betraying the confidences of people I live in close proximity with?

“Do you think these people are your friends, Nate?” Walsingham's tone is soft but with a cruel edge like a decepptively sharp blade.

“No.” He says after a struggle. “I don’t. I can’t afford to.”

“Good.”

“I am a young man and I don’t see why I have to live my life atoning for the sins of my father?’

Walsingham notices Nate has firmly changed the subject. In all honesty, perhaps he knows he is a little unjust. 

Nate was a small child still in skirts when his father made his deal with him. He wasn’t the traitor. He has never showed any sign of being anything but utterly loyal to him and Elizabeth. The lad has put himself in danger again and again to give he and Lord Ferrando the results they wanted.  
If truth be known he probably would have released Nate from his obligation years ago. But the lad was so good at what he did! He had an instinctive grasp of intelligence and current affairs. The ability to make himself known and liked by even the highest in the land. No one, not even Margot had ever discovered his secret, not yet.  
It made him ruthless in his drive to preserve his agent. These seeds of rebellion and resentment must not be allowed to flourish. Not when the team need him most.

‘Need I remind you, Nathaniel that your very existence at this court relies on my good will?’

‘Are you resorting to threats, Lord Walsingham?’ 

‘No, merely informing you of a few facts you seem to have forgotten in your cosseted life here. It would be a simple matter to inform your masters of the true nature of your role here.’

‘You would expose me? Surely that would be shooting yourself in the foot, if I am so valuable an agent as you said so yourself.’

‘As valuable as you are, Nate-‘

‘I am not indispensable.’ He says, the nature of their relationship laid out starkly before him. ‘Thank you, my Lord for making things clear to me.’

‘Nate, don’t resent me.’

‘How can I? I am merely doing as I am told. What do my feelings and opinion matter?’ he says with an astringent edge to his voice.

Sir Francis sees the betrayal, the hurt in those expressive green eyes. He remembers a time when those same eyes looked up at him trustingly. When he told this same lad to regard him as another father.

‘I did not lie when I said you were my best agent. Please think about it. The team need you. I need you.’

 

Nate unlocks his door and breathes a long weary sigh. The fire is slowly dying in the grate, so he takes up a poker and stirs it up before sitting on his bed, staring into the patterns that the flames make.

Sir Francis would never have agreed to let me go, he thought. He had been a fool to hope that his boss would reconsider and not make him join Anjou’s retinue. Well, it was understandable. Anjou was bound to become king soon, with Charles IX’s bad health and frail mental state. Sir Francis just couldn’t resist the prospect of having a covert agent close to the prospective king of France.

Every time he thinks of the prince’s lascivious tone, the over familiar caress done in front of the entire court; like a mark of possession, a crude declaration that this man is mine, body and soul, he feels a hot sick swoop of anger like he’s rarely felt. Rarely even allows himself to feel. So visceral he feels he could choke on it, taste it’s bitterness at the back of his throat Such anger is dangerous. It stops him from thinking clearly, from doing his job.

 _I will not be his puppet. I will not join him,_ Nate tells himself with new found firmness.


	16. A Royal Disagreement

Margot and Charles ride out into the forest in the early morning light, surrounded by a small select group of courtiers. By some stroke of luck, Brad and Walt have managed to join the group and enter the royal inner circle. Lord Walsingham is very pleased by this stroke of luck and insisted they attend, despite the early hour.

The hunting's good around Bondy, despite the persistent rumours about highwaymen and bandits living within it's limits. Plenty of game, fresh air and company.

Charles takes the hood off his fair white gyrfalcon, setting it free from his gauntlet. "Go, fair Margot. Fly well-" Brad hears him say quietly as if flies away, the clean clear swoop of it's wingspan soaring into the sky. At first, he thinks he misheard until Margot makes a casual remark just in front of him.

"I've always found it a trifle strange that you named her after me, Charlot." There's affection in her voice as she addresses the king. One that is noticeably absent from her interactions with that fop Anjou. The Valois family is one that is bitterly torn in two: Charles and his sister versus Catherine and Anjou.

"Why shouldn't I name her thus?" he replies with a dash of gallantry. "She reminds me of you."

She smiles at her brother from under the brim of her cocked hat. "You mean she's predatory and vicious?" she teases, her voice sounding positively flirtatious.

"No, dear sister." he says, holding her gaze candidly. There's a look, an undercurrent that flows between them for a second, no more that intrigues Brad. "Because she is wild, untameable, full of spirit, and longs for her freedom."

"Charles-" she colours prettily at his compliment before being diverted by another courtier pointing out an impressive vista.

She doesn't hear Charles's next quiet statement, but Brad's still observing the king and he does. He clearly hears Charles say to himself with a longing look from those striking eyes: "The fairest thing in my kingdom-"

Brad can't help thinking about that statement. He rides idly, tuning out briefly and mulling over it in his mind. He finds himself back from the tide of his thoughts when he hears another snatch of conversation between the royal siblings. This is not so amicable. In fact, Brad can hear that things are getting quite heated.

"-would you not reconsider giving me to Henri de Navarre?" she asks him.

When Charles answers, Brad can hear the taut tense edge to his voice. However the king indulges and spoils his little sister, there's no way in this case she's going to get her own way. Charles is set on marriage and peace and is not prepared to listen to any objections. Even his sister's.

"No, I would not. The Bridegroom is on his way from Pau, half way across the country. The paperwork has already been signed for weeks now. It would be a terrible insult for you to jilt him now!"

"Jilt him! How can I jilt someone I never wanted in the first place!"

"You would not disobey a direct royal order, would you Margot? Not when it means the peace and stability of my kingdom?"

When she next speaks, her voice is stubbornly sulky. Not that it'll do much good. Charles is just as stubborn as she is. Talk about the immovable object and the unstoppable force.

"No, Sire. I just want to you to understand my discontent." She says from behind gritted teeth. "How can you want me to be unhappy, Charlot?"

"You'd want me to let you marry de Guise, the avowed enemy of our family?"

Margot sulks, her lower lip pouting out like the petal of a snapdragon. "I didn't say that, Charlot. Don't get angry with me-"

"I don't want to hear any more about it!" he snaps so loudly that the entire company falls silent. She goes scarlet with embarrassment, but Charles is so incensed he doesn't even notice their sudden audience. Every eye upon them.

"You will do as you are told for once in your life, or-"

"-Or what?" she says with a defiant flash in her eyes, looking quite fierce.

"I think I've been quite reasonable turning a blind eye to your paramours. Why I've haven't objected to your latest scandalous fling with Lord Hasser-"

"What the-" Walt turns to Brad in shock and outrage. "Why's he suddenly involving me in this fuckery?"

Brad lays a restraining hand on his arm, which is tense with sheer annoyance. "Peace, Walt-"

Margot is equally as infuriated by Charles's verbal jab. "You and Mother encouraged it! To make sure I was distracted from de Guise! Deny it if you can. How can you say-"

Charles interrupts her rant, his voice rising shrilly as he gets more angry. "I could easily arrange an extended stay in the Châtelet for you. To convince you of the benefits of obedience!"

She pulls up her jennet so abruptly, Brad and Ombre nearly cannon into her. Brad can see her hands on the reins are shaking in rage. "You would send me to gaol? For objecting to a union that is utterly repugnant to me and the rest of the kingdom? Charlot, no!"

"You will obey me! The rules of this land apply to you too, my lady."

She turns her horse and starts to ride the other way. The other riders scatter as she kicks her horse into a gallop.

"Shit, Walt, you're going to have to go after her." Brad sighs. "How on earth did we get stuck in this melodrama?"

"Me?"

"You're meant to be her lover, aren't you? It's going to look odd if you don't at least try to follow her after all this."

With a reluctant sigh, Walt turns his horse to pursue her departing figure as Charles, still overwrought by the fight shouts behind him: "Marguerite! Come back here this instant!"

"I WILL NOT!!" she shouts back.

"I command you!"

"MAKE ME!"

Walt tries to catch up with the princess but he's having trouble. She must have taken off like a bat out of hell through the forest.

"My Lady, please-" he calls, hoping against all hope she'll stop.

"Leave me alone!"

* * *

*

Walt finds her horse half a mile away, near the outskirts of the forest.

She's sat on a tree-stump, cuffing her nose in a most unregal manner. As Walt looks at her, he can see her nose is very pink and so are her eyes. She's been weeping.

"My Lady?" he says his voice is gentle and comforting as he approaches her. Almost as if she's a wild animal he doesn't want to startle.

Margot looks up at him, her eyes brimming over.

Are you hurt, Margot? Did your pony throw you?"

he tries for a smile, but only the corner of her mouth lifts. "I'm not badly injured. Only a bit bruised, and I think-" she winces a little. "I may have twisted my ankle."

Walt helps her get up, allowing her to lean on him until she feels secure enough to put weight on it.  
She leans against him, burying her face in his doublet. "Oh, Walt. Dear sweet innocent Walt! I'm sorry. For everything-"

"What are you sorry about, Margot?" He asks. She seems to be calming down, but Walt doesn't want to start her off again. How he wishes Nate was here. He always seems to be able to soothe and pacify his mistress, with a clever phrase or sympathy in his impossibly green eyes. Or Brad, so cool calm and competent. Frankly, Walt feels out of his depth dealing with such emotion.

"It's my fault. I involved you in this mess."

There's nothing else he can really ay to comfrt her, just listen and allow to bear her soul.

"He was going to throw me in prison. With the cut-purses and robbers. How could he?" she muttered thickly through tears.

"He didn't mean it, Margot." He says, attempting to soothe her. "Your brother cares for you. He wouldn't hurt you deliberately."

There's a cynical curve to her lips as she replies to Walt, a knowing world weary glint to her eyes that should not be there. Surely she is too young to be so jaded? "You don't know my brother. Believe me, he did."

* * *

Back at the group's quarters, Walt and Brad discuss their findings with Lord Walsingham and the rest of the team.

"Why did she react so badly to Charles?" asked Trombley, bemused by the volatile emotions of the princess and how her troubles affect the lives of those around her.

"Well, you have to admit Charles was being unreasonable. Threatening to throw her in prison. It was bound to spark her off and we had to pick up the pieces-" Sir Francis reasoned, tapping the excess ink fromhis quill in a thoughtful manner.

"She's being immensely stubborn. What's the point of kicking against the pricks?" says Trombley with undisguised impatience. "He's going to marry her to de Navarre whether she will or not. Why cause such a fuss?"

Henriette looks at Trombley as if he wasn't even blessed with the common sense he was born with. "You've got no idea...Well, you're a foreigner...you wouldn't understand, would you?"

"Understand what?"

"She's terrified. Think about it. If she's going to marry Henri she will be Queen of Navarre."

"Isn't that a fine ambition? Queen? Any girl would envy her good fortune-"

Henriette shakes her head, despairing of his common sense. "What happened to the last Queen of Navarre? Let me ask you all that?"

"She died, allegedly at Catherine's hand." Ray remarks shrewdly. Brad recollects he talks with quite a few of the nobles at court and hears their opinions every day over a glass of Bordeaux. "Poisoned gloves, isn't that what they whisper?"

"Lady Margot knows what her mother is capable of. She thinks this marriage is a death sentence handed to her on a plate by her own mother and can you blame her ?"

* * *

"May I come in?"

Margot raises her head from her pillow, scrubbing at her face, still wet with tears. She hadn't expected to hear that voice outside her door, not after the fight in the forest. Charles was so angry with her. He just wasn't prepared to listen to her very real objections to the marriage. _Coligny's convinced him he must do this to placate the radical Calvinists and I must be sacrificed on the altar of his ambition._

"I- I don't know." She stammers, stalling for time.

Charles's voice is gentle as he tries to mollify his sister. "Please Margot, _ma soeur._ I want to make it up to you."

Gillone darts a worried glance at Margot, conflicted between obeying the royal order and her mistress. "Your Grace? What shall I do?"

Margot sighs. "Let him in, Gillone. Make sure we are not disturbed." She draws her maid close. "Wait outside the door; discreetly mind you, and listen in. You know how to be discreet, don't you?"

"Of course Ma'am, I won't make a peep, I promise."

Margot gives her maid a quick little hug that startles the girl. "Good maid. I knew I could trust you."

  
*  


"See, I bought you a little something. To show my contrition-"

Margot tries to hide her pleasure at his gift. "You can't buy me with presents, Charlot? You know that, don't you?"

"Do you think me cruel? I care for you little sister, I do. My favourite."

"Why can't you understand how I feel? I can't do it. Please Charlot, don't make me marry him?"

"Why are you so-" he realises that it's fear at the bottom of her stubbornness against the marriage. "You're afraid, aren't you?"  
She buries her face in his doublet.  


"You know Henri. He's a decent man. I assure you he wouldn't hurt you, Margot." He attempts to reassure her, stroking the shiny smooth length of her hair. "I admit he is a little unpolished but he will be good to you, I promise."

"It's not him I'm afraid of."  
"It's Mother, isn't it?"  
"You know. You know what happened to Tante Jeanne." She says grasping his hand in earnest. "Now she wants me to take her place. How long will it be before she attempts to strike at me too?"  
"Come, Margot-" he tries to soothe her.

She won't let him off the hook so easily. "You know what she's capable of."

Charles flinches. "Ma Soeur, we mustn't speak of this. You know we mustn't."He hold her close, stroking the rich fabric of her dress and soothing her like a distressed child. "God knows I would do anything not to hurt you. Don't you know how it hurts when you weep, my darling? If I had no other choice-"

"You do have a choice. You are king."

Charles is sad for her. He knows of her deep feeling for the troubadour and how hopeless it was to let her believe that they had anything like the future she evident still dreamed of. To save his beleaguered realm he has to break her heart. "I wish I could give you what your heart most desires. But I cannot. You are so far above him, it would never be allowed. It would paint a target on his back. You are a Princesse of the Blood, the hope of our royal dynasty. How can I give you to a humble musician? No matter how beautiful and talented he is."

"No matter how much I love him?"

Charles sighs, knowing that he is letting her down once more. _No wonder she was drawn to Nate, a man who still has some integrity and keeps his promises to her. "I'm sorry, Margot. I can't, no matter how much I care for you. I cannot sacrifice my kingdom."_

"Then let him have his birthright. His title which de Guise withholds from him out of sheer spite. Nate is the Comte de Tournelles. Why should he live as a nobody, under my shadow? Let him be the man he should be, at last."

"I'm not sure that Nate truly wants that."

"How convenient for you that he should be denied his rights. How very marvellous for everyone." She looks up at him, her eyes full of reproach. "How do you know what he wants?"

Brad helps Madeleine onto Ombre's back.

"You're not scared, are you?" he asks her as she clings the reins tightly.

She smiles back at him, cornflower blue eyes utterly trusting. "No. I know Ombre would never hurt me."

He gets on behind her and reaches round to grasp the reins. "Move to the rhythm of the horse, and you'll be fine. You're a good esquestrienne. I have every confidence in you."

"Who's that riding up from the forest?" Gillone asks idly, whilst the ladies are out on the lawn indolently sunning themselves.

Henriette adjusts her silk parasol so she can see. "That looks like Lord Colbert's magnificent warhorse. And shy retiring violet Madeleine on the back riding pillion with Lord Colbert-"

As the courtiers take another incredulous look Henriette and Gillone unsuccesfully suppress giggles, attracting Margot's attention from her book of Petrarch's sonnets.

"What are you two giggling about in the corner?" she asks.

"Anne-Marie will have kittens if she sees this!"

"I've a mind to call for her right now!" Henriette remarks, a saucy gleam in her eyes. "It's about time we had some amusement round here!"

"You are incorrigible!" Margot reproves, shaking her head and returning to her poems.

Catherine watches Brad dismount off Ombre. As he lifts Madeleine out of the saddle, Catherine's eyes narrow, keen to work out how to use this new development to her advantage.

"You must introduce me to this magnificent creature," she says, idly stroking the dark velvet of his nose. "What's his name?"

"Ombre, your Grace. He comes from my stables back home."

Catherine looks interested. There's a gleam in her black eyes as she looks on Brad, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. She offers him her arm. He hesitates for a second, glancing swiftly at Sir Francis. Francis gives him a little nod and he offers his arm to her."You breed. Well, how very interesting!" she peals with a roguish manner. Brad suddenly sees how similar she is to her daughter. "We must have a long chat about this. You seem to be a man after my own heart."

Sir Francis looks at him with a speculative gleam in his eyes. Brad feels the cold hand of dread on his shoulder. He remembers Charles's words of warning all too clearly.

Catherine and Brad ride out to the stud farm that afternoon. Naturally Brad is on his guard, remembering her reputation for malice and cunning. Sir Francis insists that he took her up on her offer and would not hear of any objection on Brad's part.

"I won't deny that it's going to be a perilous mission, Brad. Catherine is wily and suspicious of our motives here. She will try anything to get her own way and find out our true mission."

"You sound as if you almost admire her, Lord Walsingham!" Brad remarks with an undertone of accusation.

Sir Francis is unrepentant. "She is a formidable enemy and a woman of rare intelligence, but if we are going to get any closer to uncovering this plot against Queen Elizabeth, we must interact with her, but sup with a long spoon. Don't underestimate her."

Brad hears the friendly warning in his Master's voice. "I won't, Sir Francis."

*

Brad mounts up on Ombre, who's keen to have his head as they canter in the warm July afternoon. It's not surprising. A prime horse like that thrives in the open air and plenty of exercise, not cooped up in a stable getting plump of oats and grain. Catherine's stables are the pride of France. But perhaps they're not very good for keeping Ombre on his toes.

_We're all getting complacent here at court. We need to start making progress and solving this case,_

"You must tell me all about his bloodline. I've not seen such a magnificent specimen of warhorse for a long time. You said your family bred them as a profession."

Brad treads warily. He doesn't know her opinion on the Jewish faith and he doesn't want to expose his parents to Catherine's potential malice. Frankly his faith is his own affair and with the controversy between Catholic and Huguenot there's no guarantee of religious tolerance. Better to keep the information a matter between God and his own conscience.

"Once they retired and made their fortune, they became interested in the profession. We raised them on our farm, which I inherited."

"I was wondering if you'd do me a favour?"

"A favour?" Brad is instantly alert.

"Ombre is such a fantastic horse. I wonder if you ever considered letting me use him for stud purposes? I would pay you well-"

She asks so politely that Brad feels like a churl for having misgivings. He feels faintly amused at the fact that as she would like to use Ombre for stud, she uses Nate and Walt to service her nymphomaniac daughter. He can't help being amused at the irony of it.

"Let's see you ride, Lord Colbert." She gives an order for Astre to be saddled up. The grooms swap speculative looks at Brad as if they cannot believe this foreigner has been honoured with the privilege of riding one of the royal steeds.

Astre is a magnificent specimen; tall, broad in the shoulder with a pale coat that gleams with the lustre of moonlight on pearls. He strokes the horse's nose, familiarising himself with the animal who gives him a wary eye.

"Astre is the pride of my stable. A valued gift from the Sultan of Turkey. Pure Arab blood. Impeccable breeding. This is a prince among horsesflesh."

Finally astride the horse, Brad is inclined to agree with her. Astre is spirited and badly needs discipline, but there's no denying the sheer coiled power in the sleek muscles. Brad can barely wait to give him his head.

Brad races across the paddock, rejoicing in the speed of the horse once it gets a chance to stretch it's limbs. It's like riding a bolt of lightning, so swift and tumultuous. Astre tries for a few showy rears and bucks but soon settles down and changes his mind once Brad gives him a few sharp tugs on the reins to show him who's master.

_This is a dream horse,_ thinks Brad in admiration. _So much potential. He must be worth a fortune!_

Catherine looks on with approval as the grooms stare in naked amazement.

"He's an marvel in the saddle, isn't he?" remarks Sir Francis with more than a hint of pride. She observes with that ever watchful look in her eye.

Brad pulls to a stop in front of his boss and Catherine. He bows to her and hears her appreciative applause.

"Well done, Lord Colbert. A most admirable bit of riding. I'm highly impressed," she observes.

As Brad helps the groom rub down the horse, he hears the mutters of the grooms.

"There's no way you should have been able to ride Astre. That horse is a devil to control. None of us dare to go to near for fear of losing a finger."

"Then it's just as well that Lord Colbert here has skill and courage enough for all of you." Catherine remarks, right behind them. The grooms bow and scrape at her presence but she takes no notice, her attention fully on Brad.

"That was a superlative display of riding. It was a true pleasure to watch you out there. Come, let us talk. I should like to get to know you better."

Brad swaps a concerned look at Sir Francis, but he merely nods at him. 

_Go with her. Find out what she wants,_ his master is clearly implying. As inwardly reluctant as he is, Brad knows when to follow instructions.

Brad can read a silent order from his master when he sees one. He steadies himself for the task ahead.

Catherine links arms with him and guides him round the stable. "So lovely to meet a fellow horse aficionado like myself. I believed you mentioned that you bred Ombre? That magnificent horse of yours?" There's a twinkle in her eye as they move round the stable. If Brad didn't know better, it would be so easy to believe she was harmless, a charming middle-aged woman almost flirting with him.

"It takes my mind off my troubles. You know the wedding and Spain on our doorstep, demanding and looming waiting for us to make a mistake so they can swoop in and submerge us into the Hapsburg dominions."

"They are angered by Coligny's plans?" asks Brad.

Her eyes narrow as she regards him. "He is a vainglorious fool. He always has been. Typical Montmorency! But now he forgets his place and overreaches his aim. May I talk frankly to you? Man to Woman?"

He says nothing, encouraging her by his silence to speak.

"You are an intelligent man, no doubt. You understand the ramifications of what I tell you in confidence?"

"Coligny wants the Low Countries to rebel once more against their Spanish overlords. He wants us to refuse the levy Spain will demand to subjugate their unruly subjects. "

Brad wonders whether she knows of the team's history there. Their exploits at Breda and at the Spanish court. Why does she feel the need to confide in him? What arcane plot has she hatched?

"He has persuaded my son Charles to back his reckless gamble with money we can ill afford and manpower under the guise of religious tolerance for all," her lip curls in scorn. "They plan to join the rebels soon and interfere in this fight. You are friends with my son. He favours you. I hear you saved his life, at the hunt that day."

Brad can hardly deny this. It's common knowledge throughout court about his exploits that day at the hunt.

"You are an honourable brave man. We need such men here in France." She sighs with a theatrical little shudder. 

"Ah, if only you could understand the trouble I have endured since the death of my dear husband the king. Two young sons on the throne and only I left to defend them and their rights."

"Now I suspect that de Guise wants to take my daughter to strengthen his position. And she is wild enough and reckless enough that she may fall for his flattery." She shakes her head. "I don't mind admitting to you she is the bane of my life. You see her for what she really is. You at least are not dazzled by her beauty. All the girl has to do is smile upon a man, flutter those long dark lashes of hers and he loses his heart. The jade knows it as well! Too clever by half!"

Brad notes she doesn't exactly have a positive attitude towards her daughter. He can't help wondering whether some of her outrageous behaviour is a misguided reaction to gain her mother's love and attention.

"If you were to hear of any plots, you would discreetly let I or the king know. It is of vital importance Margot marries Henri. No other outcome will be acceptable. After so much war, the country cannot stand it. We must have peace. De Guise cannot be allowed to gain any more power here. Or he will start to look to influencing events abroad."

He understand hers as plain as if she'd said it clearly. _Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours._

"What would be in it for Sir Francis?" asks Brad, never losing his cool.

"Perhaps I could smooth his path at court. For him and his illustrious team. You are quite the ornament here already. All I'm asking is for you to keep your eyes and ears open. If de Guise makes a move, you move in to stop him. Can you do that for me, Lord Colbert?"

Brad is loth to allow himself and his team to get entwined in the plots of this court but he doesn't see how else they can proceed. Perhaps Nate had the same dilemma all those years ago. How could he have resisted when he was little more than a boy? What chance has he had of escaping?

_How has he survived so long in this viper-pit?_


	17. Addicted to You

There's a knock on the door, a familiar quick rhythm tapped out. Nate raises his head and stops writing his despatch for Lord Francis and Godfather, scattering sand over the fresh ink before hiding his paperwork in his drawer. He gets up and unlocks the door knowing it's her, their secret code.

 _I wonder why she's coming to me tonight?_ He thinks as he turns the key.

'What are you doing here?' he asks, as soon as he sees her. He looks round quickly to make sure they are unobserved. "Daisy?"

'Good evening, Nate.' She says with a sultry smile as she steps past him into the room. "Are you alone tonight?" 

Margot takes the key from his outstretched hand and locks the door carefully, dropping the key on the desk. She sheds her blue velvet robe onto the floor with her usual elegance, revealing nothing but a fine chemise of the latest Venetian design, a wispy scrap of lace, ribbon and sheer linen that clings to her ripe body. Despite himself, his breath catches at the sight of her. 

'I needed to see you.' She says simply, her eyes huge and dark with desire as they meet his. 'Tonight.' 

Though he can't help being pleased to see her, he knows the danger right now. They have to be careful. To be caught dallying before the wedding, when Charles and the Queen Mother are so intent on it... 

"My lady, you shouldn't be here. Not when you're soon to be married-" He starts to protest, even as he's drawing her into his arms. "Margot, you take so many risks to be with me-" 

"I need you, Nate. Don't turn me away." She strokes his face, drawing him closer for a long lingering sweet kiss. "I can't give you up. I know I must soon once they force me to marry Henri," her voice falls to a dreamy whisper as she plays with the bright waves of his hair. "- but I don't know if I can.' 

Nate knows what he should do. What the team would want him to do. What Brad would want him to do. He should tell her to leave the room, to go back to her chambers before someone sees and puts two and two together. He should walk away from her and the dangerous, suffocating passion of their illicit relationship.

But equally as clearly he knows full well despite his best intentions he cannot do it. His desire for her is like a drug running through his veins, no matter how many times he tries to quit, she always pulls him back in. 

'Why deny yourself what you most crave, Nate? We have so little time left to us. Why waste it?'

"You want me?" he finds himself asking in a breathless undertone.

She takes a step towards him. Nate can see the truth of it in her flushed face and her eyes almost black with arousal.

"Do you even need to ask?"

When they finally come together, all the pent up physical longing between them ignites like a flame. She's pressed up against the pillar, swopping frantic passionate kisses as if they were food for the starving. He kisses a trail a path down the length of her throat, sucking on her nipples through the delicate fabric of her chemise until she writhes and begs against him, greedy for all the pleasure he can give her.

His hand strays towards the juncture of her thighs, the joint of his thumb moving lazily over her clit like rolling a pearl in oil. She squirms as she registers his touch, her hips leaning towards him, inviting his caress brazenly. She's so shamefully damp and turned on by his kisses and caresses. Her arms wind round him, urging him on.

She pulls off his brown velvet doublet, letting it fall to the floor as she touches him. Her hands running along the sleek line of his back underneath his linen shirt, tracing languid faint curlicues over the small of his back until his skin hums with the need to be touched.

_Oh, she knows exactly what she's about. She came to his chamber with one thing in mind: seduction, using every wile in her considerable armoury to get him the play the role he always has. He knows the role in the masque, what he's meant to say and feel , but there's something that no longer rings right, the knowledge that there's something else out there for him, the promise of Brad and his honest ice-blue gaze promising him so much. A life with regrets, secrets and lies. He wants it so much...but is he now too tainted to reach out for it?_

'Oh, my love. Take me to bed.' She breathes into his ear as her tongue traces the shape of his ear. He can't help shivering at her practiced knowing caresses, the heel of her hand pressed firmly against his cock, her low seductive voice, the press of her lips against his skin. "One last time, Nate. Let me belong to you."

He scoops her up and practically throws her on to the bed in his ardour. Her eyes never leave his, as she undoes the blue silk ribbons at the front of her chemise, sprawled gloriously on his counterpane like some debauched tempting vision. Her dark hair shines in the firelight, gleaming with chestnut lights streaming over his pillows. A sight more to damn a man rather than to save him.

'I want you, you have no idea how much I want you right now.' He says, leaning over her.

She pulls him down by his shirt frill, nearly ripping it in her impatience to get him naked. Her eyes are very bright and focused entirely on him. 

'Take this all off; I want your skin against mine. Your body in my arms.'

He's stripping off his hose and breeches, revealing the long lean lines of his body. She watches him, an appreciative gleam in her eyes.

"Look at you, Nate... _mon amour, mon coeur_ , just look at you-" she breathes in sheer reverence and desire, desperate for him now, pulling him onto the bed and clinging to him.

Her legs wrap round his waist as hepushes her legs apart and slides into her up to the hilt. He swore they'd go slow and steady, but he can't help it, he wants her too badly.

She groans, an earthy sound. 'Oh God, Nate. Make me feel it.'

'We must be very quiet. It wouldn't do if we were discovered-' he says in her ear, even while he's sliding into her.

'I know-' she gasps, so close to the edge, her hands digging into the small of his back as he starts to grind into her. He can feel her tightening round him. He reaches down to touch her, knowing once he does that she won't last long. 'I want you so much, I can't help myself.'

Urgency courses through him like a slow heat. He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to. Even if the entire court traipsed through the bedroom right now watching him and Margot in that rumpled bed trying desperately to slake this illicit passion.

An unhealthy addiction, like a terrible compulsive thirst which try as he might, simply cannot be quenched or sated.

"Yes Nate don't stop. Please-" she sighs as he thrusts into her, as if by sheer force of will he can make them one once more.

"You want me and me alone, don't you?" she gasps, transported by the sheer urgency of their love-making. 

He realises that even though she didn't realise what she said in the throes of passion, she thinks of him as a possession. It doesn't make him feel very good about their relationship.Their sneaked illicit caresses. He can't help but feel used and resentful like the plaything he is.

 _That's all you'll ever be to her, a possession, a plaything. How did it ever come to this?_ he asks himself.

Once upon a time when they were young and innocent, they loved each other with a terrible star-crossed intensity that threatened to ruin them both.

_But that was a long time ago and people change. _I've changed. I don't know if this is what I want. Whether I'm prepared to pay the price any more. I have a choice to make and whatever I do, someone is going to be hurt.__

Nate's mind wanders as he sees Brad in his mind's eye sat on the edge of bed, judging him in silence. All long limbs and sun-gilded flesh. Those sky blue eyes looking down on him and Margot rutting frantically in that rumpled bed and judging both of them for their sin. He can practically see the scornful curl of his lip. The look he'd have in his eyes as he turned away from them. He feels an insane urge to explain, but what can he say? _What explanation could he give that would make Brad understand the things he does, the things he is compelled to do for the cause?_

She notices his arousal is flagging, his pace slowing. She forcibly turns his face towards hers, focusing his attention back onto her.

"Don't lose it now, Nate. Jesus!" she groans, sinking her nails into the firm flesh of his buttocks, fluttering and clenching round him as she cries out.

The pain brings Nate back into the moment and tips him over the edge into climax. And if he's not strictly thinking of her in the last blinding moments of that intense climax, she doesn't know.

Yet it's enough for him to feel a certain amount of guilt after. For Nate has never been very good at lying to himself, at turning away from the painful truth.

* * *

He kisses her scar on her thigh, tracing it with his tongue. She moves away, detaching herself from him, as if she can sense instinctively that his attention was not completely on her during their rutting. In an odd way , he feels as if he has been deceitful with her.

'Don't.' she says, a harsh undertone in her voice. Pulling away from him, the invisible barrier coming down between them.

He feels as if he has to soothe her. 'Why do you shrink away from me, Daisy?' he asks her, wondering if she can truly sense the real direction of his thoughts. 

She doesn't answer, her mouth taut with tension.

He strokes her bare shoulder, trying to mollify and comfort her."Daisy, I didn't mean to hurt you." 

She turns to face him then. He lifts her downcast face and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 'I hate that scar. It's nasty and ugly.' Her voice falls to an ashamed whisper. 'I don't want to think of how I got that scar.'

'I know.' He says softly, pressing another gentle kiss to the nape of her neck, his hand sliding round the warm round of her breast.

'How can you bear to kiss it? When you know how I got it? When you know what it means? How can you desire me when I am so sullied?'

'I don't think of you as sullied, Daisy.'

'How can you not?'

However he feels about the cloying seductive web she has ensnared him in and his longing for something else, this unexplored and tantalising thing with Brad whatever it might be, she is his dear friend and right now she needs the comfort only he can give her, _this at least I can do for her,_ he tells himself. 'You were not to blame for what happened. As long as they can't reach you here-' he touches her forehead. '-and here, they can never hurt you. Never again-' he lays one hand on her chest and her hand covers his, pressing it close. 'You shouldn't feel ashamed of our past. Hold your head high, my love. It made you strong. Like tempered steel that bends but never breaks.'

Her head falls back on the pillow, exposing the long graceful line of her neck. He presses adoring kisses along it, smiling against her soft pampered skin as he hears her sigh of pleasure.

'I adore you. You know that, don't you?'

'And I have loved you since the day you came to us as a child and your father gave you to us.' She smiles back in fond remembrance, her hand interlinking with his. 'I pleaded and begged for you to be my page. We were inseparable, all the way through our childhood. I don't want you to leave me again, ever. I think my heart would break.'

'We may not have a choice. I doubt that your new husband would be very happy about me joining your court there in Navarre.'

He doesn't say: _And I would find it impossible to do my job there._

She turns to face him, face all concerned. 'Why? Oh Nate, I need you! Please don't leave me! You are the only one I can trust.'

"People would talk."

"I don't give a damn!" she retorts, a familiar spark of defiance in her eyes. "Let them squawk if they've nothing better to do!"

"You know they would. You can't risk it, Daisy. Please-' he cajoles her

'What would you do without me? You would stay here? At my brother's court?' 

He nods, knowing there is nothing more to be said.

'Nate?" she presses, a hint of worry in her dark-blue eyes.

"I won't let myself think about it. I can't." he dislikes showing any sign of weakness, but who else can be so honest with. If anyone knows him, it's her. His constant companion since their youth.

"I will not let Anjou take you, I promise. I know you hate him, you fear him as I do. There has to be another way.'

She lies against his bare shoulder, the dark silk of her hair contrasting with his pale flesh. He looks down at her with sadness, a tangled snarl of emotions churning inside him.

'Ah Nate-' she murmurs, her voice husky with approaching tiredness. 'You understand me as so few others do. I'm sorry I spoke harshly to you, darling. I know you didn't mean it maliciously.'

Her eyes flutter closed, the long straight lashes shadowing her cheeks. 'If only-' she says dreamily, winding her arms round his neck. 'If only I was not a princess…I would be with you in a heartbeat. You are the best friend I have. How can I live without my sun?-'

'My moon-' he whispers, realising she's fallen asleep in his arms.

And although he has a job to do, betraying her family for Walsingham and England, in a strange twisted way he cares for her too. Far more than he should.

 _Is it selfish of me to want more?_ he thinks to himself as he lies awake. Margot is dead asleep, face snuggled into his shoulder. _To long for someone to care for me without the unspoken role which they both must play at Court. Mistress and servant._

They would never be equal; he and Margot never have been for all her love and friendship; it just isn't in the nature of their relationship. She always needed to be in control, and at first he granted her that. He could understand her need for that in their relationship. But something in him rebels at the role he's forced to play with her. To question everything he's accepted for so long.

He starts to ask himself: _Is this all there is? For Margot and I to play at being lovers? A world of clandestine trysts and snatched moments of lust? Everyone at court whispering the open secret that no one dares to voice?_

He is her plaything, to be possessed and coveted by her and her equally spoilt brother Anjou. _And when Henri de Navarre finally claims his wife, what will happen then? Without her protection and patronage at this dangerous court, who is he and how can he survive the pitfalls that await him due to de Guise's ever present jealousy?_

He knows in his heart for all her words of love; and the fervour with which she bestows her body to him, she cannot give him what he so desperately needs from a lover. What Nate realises he can no longer live without.

**Equality.**

* * *

Henriette knocks on the door as the candles gutter and the fires dies down, still too early in the morning for the servants to wake yet. He gets up to let her in.

"It's late. I'd better get her back into bed before anyone asks any awkward questions." Henriette says. He flushes as her dark inquisitive eyes travel over his half-clothed body.

"Help me get her robe on." He says, briskly picking up the sleeping princess.

"Shame-" she remarks with a sly smile as she gathers the velvet cloak and chemise from the floor. "I can see why she can't resist you. Right now, you would tempt a saint-" her voice trails away licentiously.

"Have you quite finished ogling yet?" Nate remarks, one eyebrow raised

Henriette drags her eyes away from his body almost shamelessly.

He helps Henriette move the slumbering princess into her chambers, hoping that they aren't seen by any over inquisitive courtiers returning from their revels.

"How do you do this? Day after day?"

"Do what?" Nate asks as they open the door of the apartment. Margot snuggles against him in her sleep, burying her face comfortably into his shoulder.

The look on Henriette's face is unlike her chirpy sassy outward persona. It's almost as if this is another person standing in front of him. "Stand aside and endure this." For that moment he can't bear the sympathy in her voice. _How much does she see?,_ he is forced to wonder.

"It's not my place to object, Henriette." He says, his tone of voice crisp as he tucks the princess back into her bed with one last tender kiss to her forehead. The last thing he wants to do is talk about his feelings with Henriette. Not when they are all jumbled up with the appearance of Lord Colbert and his addiction to Margot.

"I know this probably not going to help you at all, but it's breaking her heart to leave you."

This is possibly the worst thing Henriette could say right now. He wonders whether she's taken it upon herself to intervene as a close friend, or has she been briefed by her mistress?

"How do you know that? Did she confide in you?"

Henriette gives him a sad rueful smile. "D'ye want to know how I knew she was deadly serious about you?"

"When you disappeared off to Italy she was desperately miserable without you. That girl pined for two years until you came back to France. It was Nate this and my Nate that, constantly." Henriette heaves a sighs. "Lord knows I would do anything not to have a repeat of those days. Those were dark times, Nate. I'll admit that to you now. Then when you returned that day in the forest at Fontainebleau. She was so utterly happy."

Nate thinks about that day as if it were yesterday. _Margot riding up on her pony at a crazy speed. Leaping off the horse into his arms. The night he left for Italy and she made him swear to return to her, tears running down her face in her misery. Their first kiss. The look on her face as she sat with him the day he lost his father. The sweet comfort of her arms as he grieved._

_We were bound together for so long but now I need something more._

"I asked about you, but she wouldn't talk about it. Every time I brought up the subject, she would shut it down instantly. I knew she was serious about you. Far more than any of the others."

Nate feels the weight of guilt on his shoulders as she speaks.

"I know there's someone else now. She knows it too. Why do you think she's being so clingy? She's terrified of losing you. Please, I know she can be impossible but try not to break her heart, Nathaniel."

_I have to make a decision, and either this is going to be messy. One of us is going to get hurt. The stakes are getting higher and higher every day, for if I antagonise her, my protection at court will disappear._

* * *

The Next Morning, Paris

The team decide to attend the sermon by Simon Vigor that Sunday. According to Sir Francis, he is one of the most popular and influential preachers in the city. 'Vital if we need to find what the populace truly think about events."

There are rumblings but no one openly says anything. Sir Francis doesn't need to hear their discontent to register it

'I don't like it any more than you but we have to listen to the poison he spouts. See how he influences the mob.' Sir Francis says to the team. 'Now come, we must not be late for Mass, est they think us 'disrespectful!'

-0-

Simon stands at his pulpit waiting for the crowd to settle so they can all hear his message.

"I'll give the knave something. He's got charisma." murmurs Ray.

"By the shovel load." mutter Walsingham as he stands next to him.

Like the most practiced of actors, he waits to gain their attention pitching his sonorous voice so the whole crowd can hear him.

'Good people of the city of Paris, we are at a crucial point in our history. The King wants us to lie down in docility while he gives his fair sister to the Huguenot. We cannot stand by and allow this to happen. Can we?'

'No!' shouts the crowd in response, whipped up into a frenzy by Vigor's oration. Walt notices the fervour on their rapt faces as they listen to the preacher. He nudges Brad.

"They're really drinking this up, aren't they?"

Vigor is in full flow, his voice ringing out over the open space. "In their arrogance the Huguenots pour into our city, thinking that we will allow them to dictate to us the terms of the peace which Charles agreed upon. Some may say agreed, I would say he capitulated like a kitten."

'Yes!' the roar of the fervently crowd is one sonorous voice.

"It is a well known fact that the bride doesn't want this alliance. She has begged them not to do this to her, but neither Catherine or the king will listen to her."

A murmur of sympathy for the beleaguered princess ripple through the crowd at that statement.  


"And Jeanne d'Albret, God keep that blessed woman's soul, did not want such a 'Papist whore' in their own insulting words to inherit her title, to marry her son."

"Pah!"

"This is no love match, but a cynical last ditch attempt to pacify the heretics. To stave off the destruction that is surely on the way. I have learned that these Huguenot rebels plan to put us to the sword, to turn our fair city into a carnival of blood if we will not cede. Will we allow this? Or will we stand up for our True Faith?"

'Long live the Catholic Faith! Kill them all! Kill them!' the crowd, taking their impassioned, hysterical chant as their battle-cry.

Vigor holds up his hand, his voice ringing with a messianic fervour. "This is the end time. We have to make the decision, as hard as it might be. Do we take measures to preserve our faith and fight for what we believe, or allow these heretics to overrun us? Believe me, they will not spare us if the boot were on the other foot! We stamp out the problem now or die in our beds with our throats slit by the ruthless heretics!"

The crowd let out a blood-thirsty wail at the thought.

"Time to withdraw. Come, gents-" Sir Francis murmurs."I think we'd heard enough."

"Do we really have to hear this Simon Vigor fellow? He seems like the worst kind of prating idiot. Harping on with his false doctrine." Pappy looks disgusted by what he's heard, and how the baying crowd had lapped his message up. "Can't they hear what he is trying to do?"

Walsingham's face is grave as he listens to Simon Vigor's voice and the eagerly ruthless calls of the audience.

'He taps into their fears and resentments and gives them strident voice. Make no mistake, Gentlemen. This is one of the most dangerous men in Paris. We cannot afford to mock his foolishness.'

* * *

Notre-Dame

The Cardinal is a pompous old fart, filled with self-importance like an overstuffed pillow, but Sir Francis has to give it to him, he will not allow himself to be browbeaten by the Royal will, despite the obvious dangers.

'Loath as I am to incur the royal displeasure, I have to see the document before I can carry out the ceremony. I'm sorry, your Majesty-' He insists.

Catherine looks highly displeased. Cardinal de Bourbon may as well tell her to suck on a lemon, for all the good he's done their cause. _What was the point of stopping all the mail into the country if he will not bend without it?_

'Do you not want peace?' she hectors him.

'Not at such a price. His Holiness has to make a decision and without it, the marriage would be neither legal or binding. Your daughter would be putting her mortal soul at risk by allying herself with Henri without the document.'

'It's on its way. The mail is so terrible at the moment. You can't rely on it for anything.'

Cardinal de Bourbon isn't remotely fooled by her efforts to charm him. 'I have to be firm, your Majesty. No document, no ceremony, no marriage. It's as simple as that. I hate to have to disappoint you, but-'

Catherine's face barely changes, but to those who know her, there are sure subtle signs that Cardinal de Bourbon is treading dangerous ground. Her lips turn paler and paler in her face until they are nothing but a taut thin line.

'His Majesty will be very displeased by your stubbornness, Cardinal de Bourbon-' she warns ominously.

* * *

Margot's Chambers, that evening

Margot is settling for bed, when Henriette and Gillone hear a tapping on the door.

"My lady?" Gillone asks unsurely, looking to Henriette for confirmation. She's used to the rapping as a signal to make herself scarce, but this is different. For one, the rhythm is different.

"What do we do?" she mouths. "Do we admit the visitor or not?"

Margot thinks quickly and pushes them both into the alcove. "I may need both of you. Keep hidden but listen closely. You shall be my eyes and ears." she hisses, bidding them be silent and discreet.

"What if?" Gillone fidgets. "If you require your privacy, will we not be decidedly well, _de trop?" She blushes to refer to Margot's love affair with her ttroubadour, but a situation like this is something she is utterly unprespared for._

She looks at her maids, all impatience. "If it's Nate I'll distract him while I give you the signal and you can make yourselves scarce.Will that suffice?"

Henriette nods. "Yes, My lady."

-0-

Margot opens the door, acting all tired as if she has been woken from a sound sleep. She rubs her eyes to give her the requisite air of rumpled tiredness, even giving a yawn to complete the illusion. Henriette has to grudgingly give her mistress credit for her skill in dissembling at short notice and under pressure.

"What do you want, Monsieur de Guise? I need not say this is most irregular? You shouldn't be here." she starts, trying for her most regal air.

De Guise is not put off by her lack of encouragement. "I must speak with you in private, my lady." He attempts to push his way into the room, but Margot stops him, bodily blocking his path.

"Have you lost your reason, Monsieur de Guise?" her voice rises as she stares him down with a haughty glance down her nose at him, every inch a princess of the blood royal. "If my brother knew you dared to come here, into my most private chamber I tremble to think what form his anger would take. Go home, Henri-"

"Why must you be so cruel, Margot? We have little time left before the wedding. If we are truly meant to be together-"

For a moment, she stares at him in sheer disbelief at his utter delusion.

"Won't your wife be wondering where you are, Monsieur de Guise?" she interrupts rather acidly.

"You won't come with me?" he asks, his tone rising indiscreetly. "You are rejecting my offer?"

"Come with you, where? What are you talking about? I do declare I think you have been drinking to excess this night, my lord. Perhaps you should go home and sleep it off-" she says tartly, moving to dismiss this impertinent and very inconvenient suitor.

_My God, does he have a death-wish? Surely he must realise my mother's spies are everywhere? Did he want to put her head on the block as well as her own?_

De Guise makes a grab for her. She tries to evade him but he is too swift for her and pulls her close to his chest. She recoils as she feels the butt of a pistol underneath his cloak. _Surely he is not desperate enough? He wouldn't dare?_

"What is the meaning of this?" she says with a gasp.

"Come away with me. Tonight." There's a reckless urgency in de Guise's voice she's rarely heard before. "I'll give you shelter. I know a good Catholic priest, who will perform the ceremony privately for us. Once we present the king with a fait accompli there's nothing your mother or brother can do about it. Come, Margot, take a chance on me-"

She pulls away from him, appalled by his deception. If she had remotely believe he was motivated by love, rather than rank ambition, she might have almost have pitied him, but right now his shameless grab for power infuriates her. _How different he is from my dear Nate, who loves me with a selfless passion!_ "You have lost your senses. What ails you, Henri?" she tells him, her voice sharp enough to slice.

"You always let it be known you would marry me, if the circumstances were right. Why don't we make a union of it now? Strengthen the Catholic cause and give them a royal figurehead to follow, rather than your weak brother and your duplicitous mother? I could make you Queen, Margot! With one union we could save this country and get rid of the Huguenots for good!" 

She's gone deadly pale with anger, stung to fury by his rashness and disloyalty towards the House of Valois. "If you are lucky, I will kindly neglect to inform Charles how you forgot yourself in your folly tonight." her sweet mouth lengthens in an ironic line. "Since we are such old friends?"

"Marguerite?" he falters, amazed that she is not supporting his plot.

"You insult me, sir!" She snaps, at her most imperious. "Expecting that I would run away with you, like some light-skirted dairymaid! No, Henri! Absolutely not! Have you forgotten that you are still married to poor Catherine de Porcian?"

"I can get a divorce-" he protests. "The Holy Father would grant it in an instant for the sake of the Faith!"

"That's not the point!" She nearly shouts in her frustration. There is a twitch of the curtain as Henriette and Gillone obviously try and listen in but a quick sharp gesture from their mistress halts them. "Are you being willfully stupid, Henri? Do you care nothing for my reputation? To even listen to your raving against my family is nothing more than rank treason!"

He laughs nastily. "Your reputation? When the entire court knows you dally with with Nate?"

"Your cousin?" she asks with a provoking gleam in her eye. She knows all about the feud between them.

De Guise doesn't even bother to respond to her jibe. "That you go out on the streets of Paris, looking for a man, any man to sate your monstrous lusts?"

"What is so monstrous? That I want sexual congress, so I go out and take it? On my own terms? I just do what most of my girls do, so you of all people have no right to judge me. Let's not forget, I am not your wife and I doubt I ever will be." she lashed out, aiming to wound.

"Margot-"

"I suggest you leave and return not. Pray that I see fit to forget your folly, for you must be a fool to think I would risk my brother's displeasure on a pipe-dream. Do not take me for a fool, de Guise."

His face twists in anger at his rejection. "I gave you a chance to join me, but if you would rather do your duty, like a good girl and marry that damned heretic Henri de Bourbon, bear his spawn -"

She interrupts him, before he can come out with any more treasonous statements. Margot has heard enough to get them all hanged tonight. "'Tis royal busines and no concern of yours, my lord. Good night!" she snaps haughtily and slams the door in his face.

* * *

She bolts the door, trembling with shock as the implications of his late-night visit sink in. The two maids come out of their hiding-places, timidly looking at each other. 

Gillone hurries to wrap her bearskin and silk wrap around her lady as Henriette hurries to prepare some warmed wine and herbs. The three of them are shocked by de Guise's visit and the lengths he was prepared to go to in his quest for power, entangling Margot in his coup.

Gillone was the first to break the silence. "How terrible, my lady! What has got into de Guise tonight?" her big grey eyes were wide with fright and horror.

Margot and Henriette swop a glance. As soon as little Gillone goes to bed, the two of them will be having a most in-depth conversation about the loyalties of the House of Guise. "Monsieur de Guise was rather intoxicated and rashly decided to come here tonight, invading my privacy and imperilling my reputation. I am sure we don't need to refer to this situation again, do we?"

"Ooh, no my lady, not at all!" Gillone bobs a relieved curtsey. "I saw nothing!" 

"I suggest you retire for the night, dear Gillone, you must be tired. Henriette will accompany me tonight." Margot suggests smoothly, expecting to be obeyed. "Remember, not a word about our visitor tonight!" 

The young maid was not slow to take a hint and swiftly left the room. At court, there were some things it was best not to know, in all truth, and this was one of them.


	18. A Trip to the Apothecary

**Sir Francis's apartments, the next morning**

The team are all gathered discreetly, having a much needed staff meeting. It s vitally imperative that they go to René's shop and investigate just how much of a threat his wares could be to Queen Elizabeth. Is he capable of producing the lethal poison the House of Guise allegedly want to use in order to eliminate Elizabeth and bring their relative Mary, Queen of Scots to the throne of England, changing the political outlook of Europe at one ruthless stroke?

"We'll have to go to his shop and get a good feel for the layout of the store, so we don't make any schoolboy errors when we break in." Brad decides as they plan their reconnaissance trip to René's apothecary. They need answers and the team needs them fast, for the poison intended for their Queen must not be allowed to reach her. If the House of Guise succeed in their plot, who knows what horrors they will bring to England? 

No one wants a return to those dark days of Mary's reign and the forcible reinstatement of Catholicism, the bonfires piled high once more, the shadow of the Inquisition looming over our people. "Elizabeth is depending on us. Our Queen needs us." Francis instructs his men during this most crucial phase of their mission. "I need not remind you, gentlemen, just how vital this next phase of our enquiries is, and what is at stake for us all."

"Perhaps I should go with you. Make contact with the mole. According to your notes, his name is Cochonel. Young man from Berri, disaffected... " Nate suggests. Brad is impressed how swiftly he has informed himself about the case and what he adds to the team effort. Whatever he thinks of Nate's court entanglements and Princesse Margot's inexplicable hold over Nate, the man is more than willing to pull his weight and help them in their quest.

"Why is he so eager to help us, when it is such a risk for him?" asks Walt. "What do you know about him? Have you worked with him before, Nate?"

"His father’s a secret Huguenot, that’s why he’s willing to help Sir Francis," Nate reveals, "and of course since he finds himself passed over for promotion in favour of a younger less experienced man, whose only virtue seems to be that he shares nationality with René, he was not too hard to persuade. Cochonel has ample motive to help us- not least because Sir Francis is laying out a fortune for his loyalty." he adds with a touch of brittle cynicism.

"You know the staff?" Rays asks.

Nate looks amused. "I've had to accompany many a court lady there. I know your inside man well enough."

Brad looks relieved. Nate is competent enough to deal with this. "Can I delegate this to you, Ray? Make sure you pay attention to the entrances and exits. I'll need you both to produce a sketch when you get back."

Ray snaps to attention, his mind firmly on the job ahead. It is easy to see that like the rest of the team, he is actually eager to get into the field and use their skills rather than dallying idly at this dangerous court. "Aye, sir. About time too, I'd say!"

* * *

**Paris, that afternoon**

René's shop is in a fashionable part of town. By the time Ray and Nate get there, there's a steady stream of well-heeled ladies sampling and purchasing his wares, preparing for the big occasion when all eyes will be on them.

The shop bell constantly rings as yet another lady enters the shop, looking for cosmetics and beauty aids. In the run up to the wedding of the year, everyone wants to look their best.

"The scent in here is enough to give one a thumping headache. All those clashing perfumes.” Walt tries unsuccessfully not to sneeze at the nostril-burning reek.

“So it’s going to be impossible to identify any suspicious scents in isolation?” Ray can't help but groan quietly.

“We’ll have to keep our eyes open and take a closer look once we break in.” Nate agrees. "But all is not lost, Person, I'm sure we can make headway here, if we are clever and make contact with our man."

"Are you confident we can get what we want from Cochonel?"

Nate's smile is a flicker of amusement. "Let us just say that he owes me a favour, and leave it at that?"

A young lady brushes past a heavily laden table and knocks a blue bottle off with her farthingale. She makes a huge fuss, apologising repeatedly."Messieur Rene, I am so sorry, forgive me!"

The assistant clucks and tuts at her clumsiness, muttering about foolish feminine fashions and no wonder the king disapproves of these newfangled Spanish farthingales that take up half the space in the store out of sheer vanity.

Nate pauses as he stands by a shelf of scented pomades, looking nothing more than an innocuous customer. Ray sees his nose twitch and he moves closer.

“What have you noticed, Nate?” he whispers.

A frown creases his forehead. He looks delectably serious.“That scent. Do you sense it? Like scorched almonds, but overly sweet and unpleasant.”

“You think it’s suspicious, do you?”

 _I need a distraction,_ Nates mouths as he leans close for a mere moment. _Can you oblige me?_

Ray gets his cue, and wades into the situation, soothing the young lady, and complimenting her with a courtly extravagance. She dimples and blushes, accepting his attentions with a demure smile as Rene tries to make another easy sale.

Nate goes over to the table, if Ray hadn’t been watching him carefully, he wouldn’t have believed what he sees next. Nate palms two of the bottles so swiftly that if he hadn’t been watching him carefully, he would have never suspected him of doing it. And that’s with his training and sharp observation skills. Nate on the sly is a conniving beggar. He’ll fit right in on the team, no problem.

“You sneaky little wretch.” he breathes in quiet admiration as he returns to Nate's side.

Nate seems unconcerned by Ray’s admiration. “We need to get these bottles tested by the contact. As soon as possible.”

“Shoplifting, Nate?”

“Let’s just say I’m revealing my somewhat delinquent past.” Nate retorts, a rather knowing smile on his face. It’s only then that Ray gets it. _Why Brad is so damned hung up on this agent. Why he cannot bear the thought that Margot and Nate want each other._

“Where’s Cochonel?”

Nate inclines his head. A short fair-haired man lingers by one of the shelves, purportedly dusting the merchandise. He looks round furtively. Nate touches his ear briefly. It must be some kind of pre-agreed sign as the assistant disappears behind the shelves.

“He wants us to follow him. Come.” Nate murmurs. Ray is happy for him to take the lead, seeing as he has so far displayed his competence.

*

“I didn’t expect to see you, sir. Today has been very busy.” Cochonel says as soon as he thinks they are alone. Rene is currently engaged with a very important and wealthy female customer from Artois, a merchant's daughter with more gold than sense, who is making a fuss about some facial wash to rid her of freckles so Cochonel's brief absence is not noted.

“I can imagine. Just before the wedding. Everyone in Paris wanting to look their best.” Nate keeps an eye out for stray listeners as he talks.

"What is it you desire, sir?"

Ray notes the deferential tone of the assistant as Nate gets down to business, and more intriguingly the lordly authoritative tone of Nate as he take charge of the meeting. He can well believe he is a de Guise by blood by listening to him speak. "These are my friends, and I am going to require that favour you owe me. Tonight-" he says briskly, proceeding to brief Cochonel on what the group plan entails.

"'Tis most perilous, what you ask of me." Cochonel looks faintly appalled once Nate has finished.

"And yet, this is what I require. Of course you would be well rewarded for you assistance, and all you would have to do is neglect to properly close a door after hours, and leave the cabinet with the order book open." he hands Cochonel a weighty bag and watches his objections melt away.

"So I would not have to risk much?" Cochonel frets as he test one of the gold coins from the bag, his greed getting the better of his caution. "I can't afford to risk my job-"

"My friends will be taking the risks, not you." reminds Nate. "They are skilled enough that none of this will ever be traced back to you. Be assured of this, Cochonel."

* * *

Later that evening

Cochonel knows the drill and has been briefed very thoroughly by Brad and the team. He is to leave the shop at night, but neglect to lock up properly. Ray and Brad will break into René's shop at the dead of night and search for contraband poison.

Ray very reasonably points out that they don't actually know what they are looking for. He sulks when Brad snaps at him rather uncharacteristically. The stakes are high and so are tensions within the group, for failure especially now, is not an option. They have one chance to get this right.

"I don't know what's got into you, but seriously Iceman you need to pull your horns in."

"We have a job to do, Ray. An actual recon mission at last. Focus."

"Hey! I'm focused." he protests. "Nate and I scoped the joint out. We made contact with our inside man. We've studied the plans until we can draw them in our sleep. It isn't like you to be so edgy. What is it?"

"I just want this to go right." Brad concedes. "We can ill-afford for this not to go right."

They pull the dark scarves over their faces. "Time to see whether Cochonel can be trusted, or not." Ray quips.

*

They leave the house and slip into the night, clad in dark drab clothing.

“You’re sure that we’ll be able to enter the store. What if Cochonet betrays us?”

"Cochonel is well and truly bought. Nate took care of that. He fair near put the fear of God into the man, I'm not sure how."

The door is open as they enter the shop via the back entrance. Ray privately blesses the timorous clerk for following Nate's orders, despite his misgivings. Brad slips into the main storeroom and starts searching for samples they can pilfer for evidence. He pulls on a pair of thick gauntlets and insists that they all follow his suit.

Take what you can. Potions, order books and receipts, we need hard evidence if we're to nail these bastards."

"Aye, Sir!" they say and set to work making it look like nothing but a simple break in.

* * *

‘I understand you had a falling out with Sir Francis-‘ asks Brad as he sits by the fire. Nate looks up from his battered well-loved volume of Seneca.

‘I wouldn’t call it ‘a falling out’. A difference of opinion, perhaps.’ He replies, as cool as ever.

This isn’t what Brad had heard from Sir Francis. Indeed, his boss sounded as worried as he had ever heard him afterwards. Worried he was about to lose his best agent. That he had pushed him too far at last.

‘Do you wish to talk about it, Nate?’

‘Talk about what?’ he asks, opening his book again. ‘There’s nothing to discuss. Sir Francis asserted his authority. I obeyed. That’s all there is to it.’

Brad goes over to him towering over Nate and closes the book, taking it out of his hand and placing it on the table.

‘Whatever it is that is troubling you and Sir Francis. Nate, we’re a team. We need to work as one, especially now, with the de Guise plot and that poison.’

Nate raises his head to look at him for the first time.

‘I’m not asking you as an agent. I am asking you as a friend. We are friends, aren’t we?’

Nate holds his glance for a little longer than necessary in response. Brad would sincerely like to know what is passing through his mind, what thoughts made him flush and focus on the shape of his mouth. He dismisses it as wishful thinking. He can’t presume, not wanting to act as presumptuous as Anjou.

‘Yes, you are my friend-‘ he replies at last, a little breathless. 'At least, I sincerely hope-"

Brad doesn’t quite know what motivates him to ask, but the temptation is too much. Actually he has a very good idea, but right now isn’t a good time to delve too deep into his motivation.

‘Is that all I am, Nate?’

He’s so close now that there’s only an inch or two between them, the air tingling with tension. Brad wants to feel his tongue in his mouth; he can practically taste Nate’s lips upon his. He wants this so much-

Which is why it’s such a shock to the system when Nate moves away and starts to talk, as he never has before. For a couple of moments Brad finds it so jarring that he can’t take in what he’s saying.

‘-I’ve always been loyal to Sir Francis. Always obeyed orders, no matter how dangerous his assignments might be. He always encouraged me to trust him, to treat him like the father I lost. The irony is, it’s because of my father that I’m in this position in the first place.’

Brad realises that this was a long time coming. Nate needs to talk about this. Whatever was going to happen will just have to wait for now.‘Tell me about him. Tell me everything.’

‘My father was a good Catholic man. A man who made a mistake and tried to make things right. He was involved with a plot to harm Elizabeth when I was a child. I don’t remember much about it, I was still in skirts at the time. My father admitted his guilt and gave the authorities information to stop the plot. Sir Francis showed him mercy, and persuaded him to use his talents to spy upon plotters. He pulled strings so we could stay at the French court, paid him money so he’d send him reports on events here. And once I grew older, I learnt to do as he did. Sir Francis was pleased, because I was a favourite at court. I was very young, had a certain gift musically. People underestimated me because of my appearance. I looked young and innocent, everybody always thought: ‘Oh, he’s so sweet and pure, so kind and intelligent, so devoted to Princess Margot’, they never once considered that I might be passing information on the court to anyone, let alone England.’

Brad's large capable hands are wrapped around the top of Nate's arms. He is quietly impressed by the slim corded muscles underneath his grip and cannot help but wonder what it would be like skin against skin, no more fine linen, velvet and silk to impede his progress.

Nate lets out a breathless little chuckle, his face tilted up to his. Gods, Brad has never wanted so much and he is almost that Nate wants this- whatever it is- too. But he has to ask, he does not want the shadow of smirking Anjou between them, not now.

"Nate-"

"This has got to be the most ironic timing ever." he breathes, a dreamy smile on his face as he looks up at Brad. There's tenderness in his touch as he cannot resist playing with the golden smoothness of his hair.

Brad doesn't quite know what to think. "Nate, I-" He falls silent at the gentle press of his finger against his lips.

The gentle press of his soft lips on his pleasantly shocks him, the sweet taste of that mouth he'd been daydreaming about since he arrived at court. Nate's in his arms, clinging and yearning, moving with him as he presses him against the wall and thoroughly takes his mouth. As his mouth moves down the smooth length of his throat, Nate's sighs just incite him more, the movement of his hips against his promising a whole world more.

Eventually, Brad makes himself pull away from him. Nate's still nuzzling against him with a soft smile, as if he cannot get enough of Brad's mere presence, like it's a craving.

"You want this? I didn't want you to think-"

"Did not want me to think what?"

Brad forces himself to speak, even if it will mean Nate has a chance to push him away, giving him a chance to escape. "That I was forcing you to-"

"Does this seem like I don't want you?" He looks him right in the eye, a challenge and a provocation as his hand slides round Brad's nape to pull him close once more.

He has to get this off his chest. "I didn't want to be like him. Like Anjou-"

Nate stops, his lips pressed together tight as if he is by sheer will stopping himself from saying a flood of damaging things about the spoiled young princeling. Once again Brad can't help but wonder why Nate despises the other man so. "You are **not** him, and be glad of that!"

I did not-" Brad starts to say, but Nate cuts across him decisively, as firm and serious as he has ever heard him.

"If I even remotely thought that you were anything like him, I would never let you touch me!" the coldness leaves his voice as he kisses him once more with fervour. "Now, please, let us not speak of unpleasant things?" her murmurs. 

* * *

**The Guardroom, Fontainebleau**

Nate opens the door of the guardroom and enquires after his friend. There's a couple of men off duty sat by the fire with a flagon of cheap red wine on the table between them. They greet him with good cheer, being used to his presence on occasion.

"Will ye take a pint with us?" says Lablache. “Monsieur de Nançay’s still finishing up his paperwork for the shift, but he told us to let you know he’ll join you as soon as he’s done.”

Nate takes a seat, shucking off his summer weight woollen cloak onto the back of the chair.

"Haven't seen you about lately. They keeping you busy up at the palace? Don't get a moment to yourself d'ye?"

"You could say that."

"We're busy ourselves, what with the wedding. Lots of shifts and overtime."

“Tell me about it,” says another guard with feeling, “I’m on double this week!”

"Really?" Nate pricks up his ears interested by the hint from the guards. This is why he troubled himself to come down regularly and socialise with Nançay's men. They were an excellent source of information and Nate was clever to sense that and cultivate them while maintaining his friendship with their leader.

"The Huguenots have arrived and of course there's been clashes in the town centre at night time. You just knew there was going to be trouble when they turned up.”

Nate wonders how much is aggression and how much is provoked by Catholics uncomfortable with the idea of their rivals gaining a foothold in the city on the eve of the event of the year.

"Is it true what Simon Vigor says? That there is thousands of the buggers camped outside the city waiting to attack us if they don't get their own way?"

"You'd believe anything that wizened old bugger says?"

“He got a point though, hasn’t he? What have you heard?”

"There's going to be trouble, mark my words, I just hope there's going to be enough of us on duty to cope with the aftermath." says one of the guard cynically.

"We're going to need more than a couple of guards on extra duty. We're going to need an army!"

The door of the office opens and Guy pokes his blond dishevelled head out. It looks a lot like he’s been tearing his hair out, but the frown still clinging to his brow smooths out at the sight of his friend.

“Nate, I didn’t realise you were here. Have you been waiting long?” he calls out to Nate, a friendly smile smoothing out the grumpy creases in his forehead.

“I’ve ordered dinner in. You don’t mind, do you? It’s just that I’m snowed under. All this damned paperwork. I’m a godamned soldier, not a clerk.”

Nate leans back on his chair. "Not at all, I would welcome some food, actually. _Merci-"_

“I’ll be glad when this is all over.” Guy says, scrubbing one callused hand over the fair stubble on his face. “I suppose you won’t be.”

“I’m trying not to think about it, actually, Guy.” Nate says shortly.

“Is there anything troubling you?” Guy has a sceptical look on his face but says little.

“There seems to be a lot of unrest in the city. I suppose you and the lads are dealing with the brunt of it.”

“Damned Huguenots. You know they like to provoke trouble, especially in numbers. We’re rushed off our feet at night, I tell you.”

Nate makes a non committal sound of sympathy and fills both their glasses, subtly drawing him out.

"Simon Vigor’s causing trouble in the town with his preaching. Stirring up the populace with his dire tales. It’s the last thing we need at the moment.”

“Can’t you do anything about him?” Nate asks mildly.

Guy gives him a cynical laugh. “Do? What would we do? He’s merely telling them what they want to hear. Playing on their own beliefs. Vigor isn’t strictly speaking doing anything wrong.”

 _Except for stirring up the populace and fomenting fear and religious hatred,_ thinks Nate, “If he’s disturbing the peace, inciting the populace-“

Guy raises one fair eyebrow, reminding Nate sharply of Brad for a strange disconcerting moment. “Can you imagine the trouble if we tried arresting him? A prominent man of the church? With his powerful friends? No, it wouldn’t work, Nate. More's the pity-”

That's as close as the proud Nancay will ever come to admitting that Simon Vigor is a problem, but out of their reach. “You might want to mention to your English friends not to get involved, if it would do any good. You know Sir Francis Walsingham’s men. You’re friendly with them, aren’t you?”

There’s little point in denying it. It’s probably been observed that he socialises with them more readily than the courtiers.

“Is it true you fought a duel with one of them?” Nate asks.

“They told you about that, did they?” Guy says dryly.

“Not in so many words, but yes, I did hear of it.”

“-And I was thoroughly beaten for my pains. I’ll say one thing Lord Colbert is a formidable opponent. It’s why you’re so fascinated, isn’t it?”

Nate can feel himself growing red under Nançay’s wry scrutiny. “It’s not like that, Guy,” he manages to say, well aware of sounding lame.

“Isn’t it, Nate?” For a moment Nate thinks Guy-Dominic is going to needle him, but he lets it slide, to Nate's gratitude. He does not feel as if he can talk yet about Brad and the conflicting feelings the golden-haired Englishman awakes in him just yet, even to a friend like Nançay.

"You certainly do keep strange company, Nate. I'll tell you that much for nothing."

He doesn't know if this is a subtle warning from his friend or not. "Are you, by any chance trying to tell me something? Guy-Dominic?"

His friend looks at him in sheer consternation, evidently wondering what to tell him. "Nate-"

He takes a draught of wine, urging his friend silently to speak up. He needs to know what has Guy so unsettled. "Come, Guy, no need to be close-mouthed now-"

"You need to use more caution, my friend, especially at Court. Your friends intrigue the Queen-Mother a great deal. She wants to know why Sir Francis Walsingham fills his entourage with men of soldierly bearing, why Lord Colbert went out of his way to save the king during the hunt and why Charles now favours him. She has esquadron girls digging round for scraps of information, but so far they have all been thwarted, and it vexes her." Guy confides.

Nate resents Catherine's intrusion into his life. _If she thinks that I am about to relinquish my companionship with Brad Colbert..._ It is a true surprise how swiftly Colbert has become...important in his life. Nate is not sure what to think about that, how ready he is to face his own private longings for the cool inscrutable foreigner.

Guy is still fretting, "It does not help that de Guise is stirring up discord wherever he can, hinting at sorts when ever he has audience at court. You know he bears you much ill-will-"

"Not nearly as much as I bear him. The feeling is more than mutual, Guy." Nate says shortly, his mouth set in a determined line. There's years of resentment and naked dislike behind it.

"Nate, don't be stubborn. He means it, this time. He's out to discredit you and get you booted from court in disgrace. If I know him, he won't rest until you're out of the way or dead."

This is the last thing that Nate needs, not in the middle of an investigation when Sir Francis needs his information. _Trust Henri de Guise to make his life harder at exactly the wrong time!_ At least he is forewarned.

"Tell me Nate, why does he hate you so much? Why does he despise and resent you so much?"

Nate wonders what he can tell his friend, the history behind their fierce antagonism. The years of powerful dislike, the refusal to grant him the title that is his by right, the struggle he has had to survive this court. If it hadn't been for Sir Francis and his bargain, times might have become hard for him and his father. He knows this. Margot and her patronage, her unashamed love for him, bringing him into the royal family circle has been a life-saver. When he asks the questions that Sir Francis requires, no one turns a hair or refuses. He's accepted, become part of the background of court, loved for his beauty, talent and his sweet sympathetic nature. Margot's sweet troubadour, her companion, her truest friend, the witness who knows all their secrets.

"Guy, it would take me too long to tell you everything but he cannot take it that Margot-" He lets his voice trail away and shrugs as if to say: You know how it is.

"He is jealous of the both of you, oui?" Guy is thoughtful. "So he is planning something then?"

What Guy says surprises him. He can't help wondering exactly how much Guy knows of the de Guise plots to harm Elizabeth. "Planning something, Guy?"

Even though they are alone. Guy lowers his voice, as if he does not wish to be overheard. "This goes no further, understand? He went to her chamber according to a report by one of my men and tried to persuade her to elope with him. Can you imagine the man's audacity?"

Nate has trouble believing what he has just heard, "But he is already wed to poor Catherine de Porcian, how can he-"

"He was counting on the Pope granting him an annulment, for the sake of the Catholic cause and either seducing or forcing her into it. Seducing her would have been easier, but then she is infatuated with you instead, isn't she?" Guy rolled his eyes. "Once it was done, a _fait accompli_ there would be nothing that Charles and Catherine could do, and de Guise could take her claim and press it as his own." 

"Can they do this?"

Guy shrugs. "She might be banned by Salic Law from a direct claim, but whoe'er she weds becomes a huge player in the game. Charles is making a statement by giving her to de Bourbon and the Catholic hate the mere thought that a Gascon might inherit everything. Charles hates Anjou. He will do anything to deny him the throne if he can."

Nate is speechless, taking a last gulp of wine. He holds out his goblet for more. "He cannot be so reckless, so bold! This is treason, surely?"

"The House of Guise has been angling for the throne, any throne, for years and this is the best chance since young Francis died. They may never get another. They thought they had Scotland, but Mary is proving harder to govern from afar. If they gain France, they will turn further afield. Their ambition knows no bounds, and right now Margot's clear preference for you over him, well you see why I ask you to be careful, don't you?"


	19. The She-Wolf of France

Padre Tolomeo's workshop, a day later

The first thing Padre Tolomeo says when Nate joins him in the storeroom is, 'Have you bolted the door?'

"What is it?"

Padre Tolomeo's face is drained pale, the shadows lying heavy underneath his eyes. He looks as if he's been running himself ragged to get to the bottom of this, denying himself food and sleep until he'd solved the mystery.

"The situation is far more serious than I had thought. You must inform your master that things are far more advanced than I had previously thought. You must all take great care that this never reaches Elizabeth."

Nate thinks back to the bottles he'd purloined from Rene's shop."The contents of the samples I brought you."

"I analysed it most thoroughly. I tested it several times to make sure. I have to tell you, these bottles represent a most disturbing development in my field." A rueful smile flits across his tired face. "In some ways René is a genius.”

Nate is surprised to hear Padre Tolomeo refer to René with something akin to admiration.  
“A genius of what? Death?”

“A perverse one, but a genius nonetheless. It took all my years of skill to work out what he had done and recreate his methods."

"Come, observe my findings." he says leading Nate over to his work bench.

"I tested two droplets of the substance in a solution. No more-"

Nate looks down and nearly retches. 

"Do you see the internal damage that resulted? To the untrained eye it would seem that the victim suffered from the collapse of a most virulent ulcer. Even if used externally, this could do great damage to living tissue. " He points at the surface of the desk, pitted and marked. “That section of the desk was clear and unmarked until I accidentally spilled a drop.”

“The woman who knocked over the bottle....”

“I suspect that even through her petticoats she will have retained a scar on her hip. The substance may have eaten through the fabric. It seems her penchant for farthingales saved her from a worse fate.”

"It was this bottle that interested me more, and in that lies an even greater danger."

"I thought it was the same substance." Nate says faintly.

"No, they are different, though you would have to have a very subtle nose to discern it. This substance mimics a most terrible disease. Exposure or even worse internal dosage will lead to corrosion of the internal organs, a unusual excretion of blood instead of sweat. The person who was unfortunate enough to consume this would die a terrible painful death, prolonged by the design of it. It is designed to last for weeks if not months, wrecking it’s damage.” 

“Can you not find an antidote, Padre Tolomeo? What if they use this on my mistress?” Nate asks.

He shakes his head. “If only I could, Nate.”

“You can’t stop this investigation, Padre Tolomeo. Not now! With your skills you might be our only hope.”

“I have laboured for weeks trying to find an antidote for this substance. Nothing works. Do you understand? He’s beaten me, at last. If you know the people responsible for this poison, now is the time to bring them to justice.”

Nate nods. He knows what he has to do.

* * *

The Palace Gardens

Anjou takes the parchment from the messenger as he cracks the seal and reads the missive, a cunning smile spreading across his face as he takes in the contents. 

"Is your master waiting for a return message?" he says, casually brushing a speck of lint off his pale pink satin doublet.

The servant bobs respectfully, "I shall endeavour to remember any message, as the master wished for no paper trail to be left."

Anjou nods in approval, "Very wise...Tell your master, we are nearly ready to do his will. The Catholic League will ride again. This is just the beginning-" he draws a scroll from his cloak and hands it to the messenger with a lordly flourish.

Hidden behind the alcove in the orchard Brad and Madeleine stare at each other. The stakes have got dizzyingly high.

"I knew it-," he mutters to himself. 

_They were all in it together. Anjou, de Guise and the Jesuits. It was all coming together into a plot not only against Elizabeth, but Charles himself. Damned ambitious nobles and younger resentful princes gambling with the stability of kingdoms for their own amusements!_

"He's coming! What shall we do? If he discovers that we may have overheard him-" He can hear the panic in Madeleine’s voice.

"Do you trust me?" Brad says urgently, taking her by the shoulders. "Are you able to dissemble this once, for me?"

She nods, her sky blue eyes wide and trusting as a young girl's, "Of course, my lord-"

He doesn’t know what possesses him to kiss her, just the desire to keep her safe from this.  
She looks up at him, her mouth set in a stubborn line.“What are you doing, Lord Colbert?” she whispers against his mouth.

“Trust me. This once, Maddy. Please-“

With a gleam of understanding in the faint light of the orchard, she presses herself against his body, immersing herself in the role of Brad’s illicit lover with alacrity.

“Have mercy on me,” she sighs, offering her mouth up to his kiss. “Brad, don’t stop-“

Anjou’s eyes gleam most unpleasantly. “Lord Colbert. Mademoiselle de Rochechouart. What a surprise seeing you two here all alone-“

Brad nods tersely, hoping he will be so distracted by the prospect of gossip that he won’t ask too many hard questions about what they were really doing in the orchard.

“Don’t tell me we were interrupting something?” Anjou's cultured is full of gloating pleasure at his discovery.

“My lord, please don’t say anything. I’m so ashamed-“ Madeleine pipes up, clinging to her erstwhile love. Brad privately commends her for her quick thinking and bravery under duress. _She is worth a hundred of those Esquadron witches!_

Anjou’s eyes glitter at the thought that finally he has something on the cool and collected Lord Colbert, “Well, I won’t keep you from your amorous endeavours. I must congratulate you on your good fortune, Lord Colbert-“ he stares at Madeleine intently as if seeing her properly for the first time. One heavily jewelled hand reaches out to stroke her cheek.

Brad sees her tremble and he reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. “Madeleine here is one of our great beauties. In a couple of years she will outshine everyone.”

*

Madeleine strides towards the palace, her pretty face flushed. By the set line of that delectable little mouth, Brad knows she is scared of Anjou and angry. What choice did I have? I was trying my damnedest to keep her safe, she has to understand that.

“Maddy?”

“I have to go back to the palace.” She says, pulling her hand away from his grasp. “If you please, Lord Colbert-“

“You don’t understand how dangerous he is. If he finds out we heard-“ Brad looks into her eyes filling with tears in an attempt to get her to understand the dangers of what they’ve just seen.

“Why did you do it?” She cries out, the tears spilling from her eyes.

“You aren’t safe here. Not any more. Now Anjou’s got it into his head that we are lovers, you’ll become a target. I can’t allow that to happen.”

“Why? Why do you even care?”

“Because you are my friend, Madeleine!”

“Don’t you think you owe me that at least? The truth.”

Brad has to take the gamble in order to regain her trust. He only hopes he won’t regret it.“Can you keep a secret, Maddy?”

“Of course I can. For you, anything.”

"What can you tell me about the Catholic League?" he asks urgently.

She bites her lip, looking thoroughly scared. “The Catholic League?”

If only I didn’t have to involve her in this. Poor innocent girl. 

"This country has been wracked by civil war for a long time. This is the first couple of years we have been able to live in peace. That's why it was so important that Princess Marguerite and Henri married to cement it. But Anjou has never approved of peace."

"Why? When the country couldn't have sustained war for much longer?"

"Anjou fought for the Catholic side. He led the army at 15 in the battle of Jarnac, he thinks of it as his greatest achievement.When he got so much glory from war, why would he want peace?"

"No, I suppose he wouldn't." Brad thinks about this. He has to foil the plot by whatever means at his disposal. _Charles is going to have to be informed of his brother’s treachery. If he is receiving funding from the Vatican for this rebellion against the royal will, what might he do next if unchecked?_

“Do you have somewhere to go? Away from court?” he asks.

She nods, “I was going to leave to marry Victor anyway. I’ll ask him to marry me straight away. My father will have to understand if I beg to re-enter a convent until then.”

“Do it soon. I wouldn’t have you come to any harm because of me.” Brad insists. He got her deep into this mess, he has a certain duty of care towards the lass.

She gives him that sweet trusting smile, “I know you would never harm me, Brad.”

 

Anjou bursts into his mother’s office, looking harassed and irritable. She abandons her paperwork as soon as she sees her favourite son.“What is the matter, mes yeux? You look distracted?”

Anjou scowls. “We were discussing the Catholic League and we discovered Lord Colbert and Madeleine de Rochechouart in the orchard.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t think he was interested in a chit like that. My girls will be most out of joint. Imagine little innocent Madeleine succeeding where the great Anne-Marie de Guise and Charlotte de Sauve failed-“

“Maman, this is serious. You told me Lord Colbert was a spy!”

This catches her interest at once. “You think there’s more to it than that?”

Anjou makes an impatient noise, “They were in a prime place to have overheard mine and de Guise’s plans. To hear about the money. If they saw the funding change hands-“

“To hurt him, we must strike at her,” Catherine says with her usual decisiveness. “She is his only weakness. She managed what my most experienced girls of the esquadron could not. He really cares for her, even if it is just as a friend. Leave this to me, Alexandre. I will deal with the girl.”

“And Lord Colbert? He cannot be allowed to interfere in our plans with impunity!” he insists.

“Oh, don’t you worry! I have plans for our English demi-god, never fear-“

 

Catherine de' Medici's office, afternoon

Madeleine tries to stop her hand shaking as she knocks on the door of Catherine’s office. The Queen Mother terrifies her. She knows that when Catherine finds out why she made the appointment to see her, she is going to be angry. How vengeful, she doesn’t yet know.

‘Come in.’

She enters and sinks into a curtsey, her eyes cast down demurely,‘Your Majesty.’

‘Shut the door, Madeleine.’

The girl shuts the door and stands to attention, twisting her hand in the rich material of her skirts.

‘You wished to speak to me?’ Catherine says, one eyebrow raised.

Madeleine can feel her resolve leaving her, but she remembers she has to do this. Brad told her to be brave, to do it soon. She wishes he were here with her to give her courage and strength. She feels as if she could do anything if he was by her side.

‘I wanted to see you, your Grace… about leaving court, if you please.’

Catherine says nothing, just stares at her with those dark penetrating eyes. She lets the silence stretch between them like a taut wire, ratcheting up Madeleine’s nerves until she feels they will snap at the least provocation.

‘Leave Court?’ she says finally, as if the girl has proposed something quite shocking.

‘Yes Ma’am. As soon as possible.’

‘Why would you want to do that, Mademoiselle de Rochechouart? When I have recently favoured you?’

Madeleine launches into her well-rehearsed lie. ‘My parents have arranged a match for me back home in Poitou. I am keen to settle down and start a family, Madame. My husband’s family have suggested I am to go to a convent for a while, until he makes his fortune and can ask for my hand in marriage- ’

‘Settle down?’ Catherine mocks, ‘Start a family? How old are you, child? You’re younger than Margot.’

‘By a couple of years, yes Ma’am.’

‘Seventeen years old. In the first bloom of youth. To go into a convent! You can’t be serious!’ 

Madeleine isn’t fooled by her light tone, ‘I have realised that court is not for me. I am too retiring to thrive here. I am not like Charlotte de Sauve, or Anne-Marie de Guise-’

‘You are only young, my dear.” Catherine remarks. “You have all the time in the world to learn-”

‘That’s just it. It’s not what I want. I just want a simple life.’

Catherine steeples her fine plump hands in front of her.‘I find it hard to believe that a beauty like you cannot carve a place for herself here at my court. I had great plans for you, my dear. Very great plans-‘

‘I dare not disobey my parents, your Grace.’

Catherine is still musing, toying with her as a cat does with a mouse.

‘Of course, I could always write to them. Make it clear that your departure from court would inconvenience me greatly.’

Madeleine sees the smile, full of malice on her mistress’s face and she knows that’s she will not let her go so readily.

‘What plans did you have, your Majesty?’

‘You do realise that if I let you go from court, you would have to leave the esquadron, and I can’t allow that, my dear.’ 

Madeleine stares at her, terrified of the unsheathed menace in her voice. ‘I swear I would never breathe a word of your secrets, Ma’am. I promise-‘ she starts.

Catherine ignores her, getting up and circling her until the poor girl feels more a prey than ever.

‘Why do you really want to leave court, Madeleine?’

‘I told your Majesty, My parents-‘

Those dark eyes are boring into her at close range now. She can’t help trembling, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Don’t lie to me, dear. I can’t abide a liar. Why do you want to leave?’

‘Oh Ma’am, please-‘

‘It’s not because of Lord Colbert, is it?’ she probes.

Madeleine can feel the blood rush to her face, the telltale sign Catherine’s looking for.

‘No, Madame.’

She feels a sharp vicious tug to her long golden hair, caught in a thick braid and her eyes spill over in pain, running down her plump youthful cheeks.

‘I told you I hate liars.’ That voice so close to her ears like an unpleasantly oily caress. Madeleine shivers. ‘Tell me the truth. You’ve fallen in love with him like all the other girls, haven’t you?’

Madeleine shakes her head frantically, trying to convince her mistress, ‘Lord Colbert has been nothing but kind, but really I am nothing to him. Just a friend-’

‘I don’t think you’re being quite truthful, dear-‘ Catherine insists, with another tug on Madeleine's plait to emphasise her point. ‘Do you know what I think? I believe it’s you that’s captured his heart, not Anne-Marie or Charlotte. He told you to get away from court. Didn’t he?’

Madeleine shakes her head, unable to speak under her onslaught. 

‘Why would you be so prepared to lie for him? What spell has he cast on you?’ 

‘There’s no spell-‘

‘You know what I think? You had an affair with him, a short sweet thing while he struggled with his feelings for our troubadour, then when he finally rejected you, you found out you were with child. This is your pathetic attempt to save face. Oh Madeleine, have you no pride?’

Madeleine is shocked. She knows she shouldn’t allow Catherine and her cronies get to her, but the accusation upsets her. _So that’s the lie they’re trying to spread about her? If her Victor ever heard the rumours he would refuse to marry her once back home and then where would she be?_

“It’s not true! I’m not pregnant, Madame. How can you allow people to say that about me?”

“I notice you didn’t say you were a virgin?” Catherine interjects. “Quite an omission for a prospective novice, wouldn’t you say?”

Madeleine’s face is scarlet with embarrassment. “Your Grace, please-“

“Don’t tell me you gave it up to Lord Colbert without even extracting a promise of love from him? Honestly Madeleine, have you learnt nothing from your peers at court?”

“It’s not true, your Grace. Brad was nothing but a friend to me. I don’t want to talk about it-“

“Then you can forget me allowing you to leave, Mademoiselle de Rochechouart.”

Madeleine looks at her fearfully.

“This is not the time to be silent. Otherwise I shall be forced to write to your parents that you are quite out of control-“

* * *

Anne-Marie is sulking when she is admitted into the Queen Mother's presence."Your Majesty?"

"Mademoiselle de Guise. This is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you, _mia cara_?"

Anne-Marie pouts murderously. "Madeleine de Rochechouart is stealing my thunder. I can't bear it. Sir Brad pays her attention constantly, and not me. Going riding for hours in the parks of Fontainebleau and Saint-Germain. Always laughing and joking like they are the best of friends. It's not right. Lord knows, I've tried. But that insipid little wretch constantly stands in my light. Perhaps he is in love with her. Perhaps he likes the demure little milkmaid type. But I will not admit defeat!”

"What do you want me to do about it, Anne-Marie?" Catherine says callously.

"I want to be rid of her. I want you to help me, your Majesty. You know that you can-"

“Do you?” asks Catherine, as cool as ever.

Anne-Marie cannot believe that the Queen-Mother would play such mental games with her, not when the stakes are so high, "Why would you not do it?" her voice rises in distress at the thought

"Just because I can be cruel doesn't mean that I have to." Catherine says rather nastily. "If you haven't got what it takes."

"I have!"

"Prove it to me." she says with a malicious smile. "Show me that you haven't lost your killer instinct."

Anne Marie thinks about what she said. "You employ Monsieur René, the Florentine. Introduce me."

"For what? What do you want from him?" Catherine plays dumb, but Anne-Marie knows that she is understood. Only too well.

"A potion to get me what I most desire. Your Majesty-"

"Oh Anne-Marie, _mon belle-petite,_ you are still young and beautiful! You surely don't need a love potion?" Her smile broadens spitefully. 

_She enjoys needling me when I am down,_ Anne-Marie thinks with a fierce spike of hatred for her mistress, _‘Tis blood-sport to her!_

"I know Lord Colbert has resisted your constant attentions, but it would be a sad day indeed if you have to resort to chemical enhancements to get your own way."

"Do not tease me, Your Majesty." Anne-Marie cries in a passion.

"You forget yourself, Mademoiselle de Guise." Catherine says rather quellingly.

*

When Anne-Marie enters René's shop, she looks around dearly, wrinkling her delicate nose at the acrid odour of the shop. She tries to repress the urge to heave.

"Monsieur René?" she calls, wrapping her cloak round her. She convinced that he can recognize her, even though she has been careful to be masked and veiled in the summer heat.

"My lady. What can I do for you?" he says unctuously, bending over to kiss her perfumed lily-white hand. 

Anne=Marie waste no more time,"Can I speak to you, sir? Privately?"

He rubs his hands in their thick leather gloves. "Ah, you wish to have a private consultation, do you, my lady? That will cost more, you realize. My time is precious-"

"I don't care about the cost, sir!" she snaps, nerves over wrought.

"Of course, my lady this way.” 

He ushers her into an office and guides her into a chair, "How can I help you, Mademoiselle de Guise?" he says.

Anne-Marie is surprised that he knew her identity all along. "You knew me?"

He smiles serenely, "Let's just say I knew you were coming. Someone important warned me you wanted my services."

 _Let's just think who that might be. Catherine, of course!_ She thinks.

"What do you know?"

"I know that you wish to be rid of a love rival. Someone who has intruded and endangered a mission you've been given. You are fiercely ambitious and dislike having your dominance challenged."

"Can you help me? I would pay you well, I promise-" she says winningly.

René plays it cool. He still has the note from Catherine in his study. 

_**She is desperate. She will do anything to get her own way. But you mustn't sell her any poison. Not now.** _

"I am sorry that you must be disappointed, Mademoiselle." he smiles apologetically, bowing his head.

"Disappointed? That's impossible?" Anne-Marie's voice rings out in sheer disbelief.

He shrugs. "I have nothing effective in stock. My shop was broken into and many of my more virulent concoctions were destroyed or stolen." Not to mention incriminating receipts and samples which he had been loth to replace, but had no choice. Whoever had broken in had been cleverer than the average robber. He did not like the signs, and had resolved to keep his activities on a discreet level for a time, while enquiries were being made.

"Can't you make some more?" she demands, "I am willing to pay a premium for your services, time is of the essence-"

"It's not so simple, my lady-"

"I will pay any price. You have no idea how important this is to me." She insists. "Haven't you got anything I can use?"

“I'll have a look on the shelves, but I cannot promise you anything, my lady."

Anne-Marie is annoyed that he will not help her. It seems preposterous that he should have no stock left. “If you find anything useful, please call on me at the Hôtel de Guise. I need not state that the greatest discretion is necessary."

* * *

Marie Touchet's cottage, night time

Marie is putting little Charlot to bed at night when there is a violent knocking on the door. It reverberates against the wood, echoing through the space of the cottage. Marie stiffens at the sounds, her heart and mind racing so fast, she thinks he must be able to hear it knocking against her busk. She tucks her hands in her skirts trying to hide the trembling of her fingers. The sick feeling in her stomach threatening to spill up and choke her. 

She tries to take a deep breath, fighting her terror to try and get some much needed air in her lungs.

“Maman, Who is that?” the boy asks.

She hastens to reassure him, stroking his hair with a shaking hand and crooning comfortingly to him until he sinks back onto his pillow. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’m here. Nothing can harm you while I’m here.”

“Will we see Papa tomorrow? I want to show him my new baby rabbit.” He asks his eyelids fluttering shut.

Marie’s tender heart twists at the trust and innocence of this boy. Her and Charles’s treasure. She would rather die a thousand deaths than let him come to any harm.

“Go to sleep, Petit Charles. Maman and Papa love you very much.”

There’s another round of thumping on the door, louder than the first. She looks round, terrified by the incessant knocking.

"Who is it?" She quavers.

"Open up in the name of the king!"

She leans against the door, clutching at her chest. This is it. The moment she’s feared for so long. _God, give the strength to get through this and endure. For my son’s sake._

Marie opens the door, fumbling with the bolt. Her hands are shaking so much it takes her four tries to open it.

“Please Sir, don’t hurt me!” she wails piteously.

Catherine and Alençon stride into the humble cottage looking down their noses at her humble home. Kicking up the rushes on the floor. Peering into the remains of the stewpot on the fire. Poking into chests and presses for information.

“Well, well. So this is where Charles keeps his mistress. His secret family.” Catherine’s sharp dark eyes miss nothing as she examines their humble home.

“Oh Ma’am, please forgive me.” Marie cries out trembling as she prostrates herself on the floor.

“Come here, let me have a look at you, girl.” Catherine says, holding up her chin forcibly. Marie shudders as she makes eye contact with the notorious Queen Mother. She remembers everything Charles has told her about his mother and his family. Every dire warning, every scrap of whispered gossip.

“I hear there is a child. Charles’s only son. Where is he?” Catherine says in a silky deadly voice that puts dread into Marie’s heart.

Marie tries to hide her terrible fear of his mother. “’Tis late, your Grace, and he is only young. He’s in bed.” She quavers, trying with desperation to conceal her emotion.

“Go and get him, François Hercule. I want to see my grandson.”

“He’s asleep. Please, don’t disturb him.” whimpers Marie, stricken with panic.

Catherine ignores her pleas, barely taking notice of the wretched girl.“François Hercule?”

“Yes, Maman?”

“Get the child.”

Marie gasps, but is quelled by the look in Catherine’s pitiless dark gaze.

“Whoever would have thought that Charles would have you living as beggars!”

“I am happy where I am. Petit Charles and I do not need any more.We do not starve-”

“A royal mistress who doesn’t want fame and fortune? Dear God you’ll be trying to tell me that unicorns still exist next?” Catherine makes no attempt to hide the cynicism of her voice. “The great Diane de Valentinois would turn in her grave. Don’t you know the first rule of being a royal mistress? Take everything and bankrupt the country in the process?”

“I didn’t even realise that he was royal at first.” The admission slips out before Marie can guard her tongue.

Catherine stares at her as if she were simple. “You didn’t realise he was royal at first?” She echoes with utter incredulity.

Marie tries to pull herself together in the face of her terror, but her voice shakes and she can barely get the words out, “He was just a man who stopped at my door, asking for refreshment one day. He was kind and gentle, handsome as a lord. So easy to talk to, about anything. I was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. I fell in love with him, not his title.”

“And then you found out he was king. You must have thought all your fairytales had come true." Catherine breaks into a dark cynical chuckle at the ridiculously romantic scenario; really, 'tis as good as one of the de Tournelles lad's plays, those frothy dramas that Nate and Margot so enjoyed in their youth, "No one is that naïve?”

“I’m sorry, your Majesty. Please, I pray you, let us live in peace! I mean no harm to anyone! I have no ambition, no agenda. All I want is to live a tranquil life with my darling boy.”

“You realise he is married, don’t you? That the queen takes precedence over you. He will not even acknowledge you and your brat publicly?”

Marie refuses to be intimidated, even though the queen mother’s words are as stinging as a whiplash on tender flesh.

“I know, Madame.” She replies, head bowed in humility.

“He can never be yours, as you hopelessly dream.” That relentless voice is cruel and pitiless, stripping the poor girl's illusions and exposing them to the light to crumble into dust.

“I am grateful for whatever time he can spend with me. Truly, your Grace, I demand nothing from him.” Marie stammers, starting to sob/

 Catherine looks deep into those guileless eyes, searching for any hint that Marie is lying, "See that it stays that way, or you will rue it, child."

*

At the Palace

Charles sips the wine like it’s nectar, a reverent expression on his face. “A beautiful nectar. Please help yourself, Lord Colbert. Finish the bottle.”

“Are you not having more?”

Charles looks regretful as he lets go of the bottle. “I must not, for too much overheats the blood and makes me unmanageable. I must struggle against my own nature. I cannot risk a slip up, not in these times when so much is at stake.

The two men are winding down their game of chess, when a page ducks into the room. He sweeps into a deep bow at the sight of his Majesty in his shirt sleeves.

“Sire, please forgive me for intruding on your privacy, but I have information from Monsieur de Nançay you need to know.”

“Well, usher him in! Sorry, Lord Colbert, we’ll have to conclude this match at another time.” he says apologetically as he returns to his duty.

Nançay bows as he’s ushered into the monarch’s presence. “My Lord, I have it on good authority that your mother intends to visit Madame Touchet.”

Charles goes pale and clutches the arm of the chair, utterly shocked and unmanned at the mention of his mistress and his mother. Brad decides he must step in, as from his prior observance Charles panics in a crisis and that just makes his condition worse. A level head and swift action is what’s needed here.

“My lord, we should go there at once.” He urges. “If we hurry we may catch up with your mother.”

Charles turns to him, trembling with agitation. “Will you come with me, Lord Colbert? Monsieur de Nançay? She must not get her claws into my boy. Dear Marie, how terrified she must be.”

“I’ll get the horses ready.”

*

Marie Touchet's cottage

The three men ride to the cottage in virtual silence. Charles is on a blade’s edge, and neither Brad or Guy wants to be the one who spark his ill-temper.

 _Damn Catherine and her interference!_ thinks Brad. She has to know that Charles wanted to keep his mistress and his son well away from her baleful influence.

Charles jumps off his horse and ties it to the tree.

“Just as I thought.” he mutters, seeing Catherine and Alençon’s steeds secured there.

He opens the door. Marie runs into his arms, and he embraces her tight, wiping the tears from her eyes, whispering words of tender comfort. Alençon stands there, a sneer on his swarthy pockmarked face.

“Charles-“ she sobs, a hand reaching up to caress his face, "I tried to stop them, truly I did-"

Charles grits his teeth in the face of this disaster, “I will deal with this. Where is she?”

She flinches at the sudden hardness in his voice, so he has to comfort her again.“In Petit Charles’s room. I tried so hard to stop her.”

“Take care of her, Lord Colbert.” He asks Brad. “Please? I must see my son safe.”

Brad bows. “Certainly, your Grace.”

*

He can hear his mother’s voice cajoling the tiny boy even before he reaches the room. It makes his skin crawl to hear her talking to him in that low seductive voice he remembers all too well from his childhood days, and the sound spikes his anger and fear to unbearable heights.

“Mother.”

She looks up at him, eyes shining with some unholy mischief. Charles has to restrain a strong urge to pull his son out of her rapacious grasp, lest her evil taints this innocent child too.

“He was telling me a tale of his baby rabbit. How charming.”

Charles tries to exert some self control, to gain some dominance over the situation. Petit Charles blinks sleepily at his father.

“Papa-“ he murmurs. Charles approaches the bed, giving the little boy a kiss on his cheek. His small arms wrap round his father’s neck for a bedtime cuddle.

“May I speak to you. Outside?” he grits out, turning to his mother.

Catherine ignores his bad temper, a smile of provocation on her face, for it is clear to see that she is enjoying every single moment of this.“He’s so like you, Charles. He has your beautiful golden eyes.” Her fine jewelled hand reaches out to touch his temple which throbs with annoyance. “Such very distinctive eyes. Anyone would know he’s your’s, just by sight.”

“Now, Mother!” His voice is like a whiplash.

Catherine meekly follows him out of the room.

*

“What’s the matter, Charles? Why are you so vexed?” Catherine asks, patting him on the arm as she mock- innocently winds him up further.  


Charles is so angry the blood has drained from his face, leaving two livid spots of red on his sharp cheekbones. His eyes blaze in his thin peaky face like live coals.

“How **dare** you come here! Against my wishes!” He grits out, clearly on a knife’s edge.

She has that ungodly light in her eyes again, “They are my family! Don’t you think I would have an interest in your son? My grandchild? Although it has to be said, I can’t believe you would allow him to be brought up practically as a peasant in some poky little cottage-”

Charles grits his teeth. He is furious, a fact she can tell by the muscle at his temple which throbs alarmingly. “Stay away from Marie, and stay away from my son!”

“But-“

“I mean it!” His breath comes hard and ragged, his chest heaving violently with emotion, “You are playing a very dangerous game, Mother. Keep away from Marie and my boy!”

The door opens as Marie comes to find them, alarmed by the raised voices. Marie’s poor horrified face with tears slowly trickling down her cheeks. She’s holding Petit Charles in her arms and the little boy stares at his parents, clinging to his mother for dear life. He sense the tension in the air between the grown ups and he’s starting to whimper, distressed by the disruption to his usual bedtime routine.

“Let me have him. He could be brought to court. Brought up in a manner befitting his blood, living with his relatives... No one need know he is a bastard-“

“No!” Charles does not even consider it as an alternative.

Her voice is horribly insistent, “You cannot isolate the child forever. One day he will demand his birthright, and will grow to resent you for denying him. Just as my own children through no fault of mine resent me-“

“My son will go to court over my dead body!” Charles’s voice goes shrill with rage. His eyes bulge most alarmingly.

“Please, Charles, don’t say that-“ moans Marie embracing the child tight in her abject misery. “She is your mother-“

“You have no idea. No idea! I will not allow my son to suffer what I have. No! I will not. If I can do nothing else for him, I must do that. I will keep him safe and loved. He will lead a normal life as far as I can let him.”

“Is that fair on him, Charles?” Catherine points out, sounding for all the world like a reasonable loving mother, but Charles is not fooled by her play-acting in the slightest.

“Do not presume to tell me what is fair or right! He is my son.”

“He is my grandchild," she insists, "Would you deny me my own flesh and blood?” She gives the couple a tremulous smile, appearing to be a harmless fond grandmother denied access to her own flesh and blood, but Charles isn’t remotely fooled by his mother. His grip tightens on Marie and his son.

“You forget, Madame. I know you, and I know the games you play too well. I want my boy to live a innocent life. So forget it!”


	20. At the Pavilion

As the courtiers wait to take the stage under the light of hundreds of candles for Nate's production, Brad and Walt can hear the hubbub of the audience behind the makeshift curtain, the tension rising in anticipation, waiting for the start of the show. The production is being watched by all the courtiers who aren't participating in it. Catherine and the king have spared no expense to showcase their court, and it's beauties, on the eve of Princesse Margot's wedding.

"Remind me how we got press-ganged into this again?" he whispers to Walt as they wait in the wings. It was certainly a far cry from their training and their usual tasks and duties working for Sir Francis, but their boss insisted that they participate, and play the game, however alien it might be to them.

"Sir Francis's grand idea that we would be able to overhear plots from the courtiers. And you have to admit so far that it's worked. We needed to gain their trust, become part of the group." A rather unorthodox method of gathering intel, to Brad's mind but surprisingly effective as they have been able to glean so much more intel on the de Guise clan and their motivations. With Espera's dossier from the rogue Jesuit, and the recce mission to the apothecary, the group have near enough evidence to foil them, should they start their mission. Due to the regular postings from 'Ganymede' and Sir Francis back to Lord Burghley, using all the information gleaned, they have a fighting chance to stop the de Guise plot from harming Elizabeth back home. 

Brad adjusts his costume and privately thanks his stars that he doesn't have to wear what Nate has to in the third act. The thought of other people staring at him with desirous eyes, wanting the fair troubadour, makes him feel irritated inside.

_How swiftly he has become well...important to me._

*

 

With a nod to the musicians in the pit, Charlotte launches into her first solo song and dance, dazzling in her gleaming confident youth and beauty, all dark sensual eyes and elegant alluring movements. Henri peers from the wings at her, glorious and captivating in the candlelight as she dazzles the crowd, enjoying her power over them as they lap up her performance.

“What a woman.” He sighs with real longing in his voice as he stares at her. “If only-“

Charlotte notices her admirer and glances at him briefly, a triumphant little smirk on her face.

He’s so entranced by his lover on stage that he doesn’t notice the masked woman right behind him. Not until she stands right next to him, jeweled hand clutched on the curtain. Her mouth is slightly open in a sigh of longing. Henri can’t help but think she looks rather familiar. Something about the shape of her mouth behind her half mask and that long dark river of hair. _Why can I not shake the feeling this maiden should be familiar to me? I ought to know her..._

“God help me, I need him,” he hears her sigh, “Bring him back to me, for I cannot live without him.” He tears his glance away from Charlotte for a moment, struck by the desolate longing in the woman’s voice. _Who is the man she watches from the shadows with such hopeless desire?_

“Sweet maid, you must not weep for what cannot be-“ he says with kindness in his voice. His mouth curves up into a confident knowing smile, keen to flirt and appreciate an obviously attractive young lady, who seems to be pining for little reason whatsoever, "-perhaps you would allow me to console you, Mademoiselle?"

"Console me?", She draws back in suspicion in a rustle of leaf-green watered silk, the pearls in her dark hair catching the dim light. _A lady in waiting,_ thinks Henri, _a well born one, to be able to afford such beautiful pearls!_ "How do you plan to do that, pray, Monsieur?" she asks. She looks down her nose at him from behind her mask, imperious as any goddess or queen.

"Like so, _mon coeur,_ " Henri slips his arms round her waist and pulls her close, helping himself to the sweet succulence of her mouth. 

For a moment she is startled, but she melts a little into the kiss at the end, as if she is testing her curiosity about him and his rather rough but ardent wooing.

"Such a sweet kiss! I swear I will be good to you after the wedding, cherie. Have no fear of that! My wife-to-be will not object if we remain the very best of friends?" he murmurs, completely entranced by the mysterious beauty in his arms.

The girl looks at him with horror, as belated realisation of his identity seems to come to her at last. In the dim light Henri notices her eyes gleam blue from behind her mask. “Henri de Navarre? No! You mustn’t see me!” she gasps on an intake of breath, hands at his chest, pushing him away with some strength.

Henri is confused by the sudden change of mind of his amorous partner, "What is the matter? Why do you flee when you enjoyed my kiss as much as I did?" he protests, trying to clasp her close.

She shakes her head, pushing him back hard and running away before he has a chance to detain her. She briefly glances back to him, shaking her head a little and looking at him almost reproachfully.

_How interesting. She obviously knew who he was but she was still a mystery._

 

*

When Madeleine and Brad make their first entrance to sing their duet in sweet harmonies, Anne-Marie de Guise cannot tear her eyes away, silently seething as they perform. She watches every move they make as closely as any hawk, her mouth pressed tight into a sour line, making her lose most of her golden beauty, had she but known the effect of her bitter vengeful thoughts on her outward appearance.

_Why won’t he notice me? What am I doing wrong? I have not lost my allure, I **know** I haven’t. I could have any man I desire at court, at a mere snap of my fingers. So why does this man, this haughty beautiful man, elude me still? What must I do to reel him in? I cannot accept defeat, not now!_

_I cannot accept failure, not so soon! Her Grace is expecting results, and I dare not let her down now, not with Charlotte snapping at my heels, that bold faced slut, trying to oust me from the position I earned as a valued member of the Esquadron! Failure is not an option!_

*

The curtain opens for the second act and there is an audible gasp of sound as Nate and walk out to perform the solos and duet. Nate's body is painted intricately with gold curlicues and words. It must have taken hours to apply with a skilled hand. The feathered wings attached to his back fan out. He looks like some glorious tempting vision, a fallen angel commissioned to entice the unwary.

Brad isn't the only one dazzled by Nate. Anjou is leaning forward in his seat, his slumbrous dark eyes glued to the stage. He makes up his mind then as he sees the prince absent-mindedly rub his codpiece with the heel of his hand. There's no way he's going to allow Anjou to try and take him, not now.

* * *

Nate's Chamber, that night

Brad has to stop tormenting himself, he tells himself as he makes his way to Nate's and knocks for admittance, his mind in a turmoil of wanting. He has to know how Nate feels, whether he shares this intense physical desire for him once and for all. _Just one night, get this man out of my system and my mind back on the case,_ yet he knows he is fooling himself. This is not going to be just one night.

Nate opens the door, in nothing but a velvet robe, the pile soft and almost touchable. His skin is pink, his hair is damp and clinging around his face, like he's been scrubbing off the gold paint and not finished yet. There are still faint stubborn traces of it on him, tantalising fragments clinging to his skin. Brad focuses on the word 'Amour' written in fading traces on his chest. A great and terrible longing to trace it with his tongue comes over him.

"Lord Colbert? Why are you here?" he asks.

Brad meets his eyes for a long moment, taut with something unsaid, but heavy with promise, "May I?"

Nate nods, and moves to let him in, bolting the door behind them. Even in this moment, he's careful.

As he turns back to face his guest, he has a smile on his face that would corrupt a saint. Right now, Brad is wondering just how long he can hold out, and what exactly Nate wants.

"I take it you wanted to talk privately, and perhaps this is not about the case?" Nate says directly. No coyness about him. Brad looks at him. His eyes are dark with desire.

Brad can't help himself. His eyes travel over his half-clothed form. _I'm going straight to hell for these thoughts and right now I don’t even care._

He cannot help but admire the long lean lines of Nate's body, the almost deceptive strength, elegance and grace. _He's so beautiful, no wonder he's desired by princes and princesses. No wonder Anjou can’t keep his covetous hands off him._ He can almost understand Margot’s possessive desire for this man. Almost.

 _Royal plaything, but you’re all mine...._ that image of him on stage, half naked, with wings singing only to him rather like a fallen siren. He's dangerous, beautiful and Brad cannot keep away, not any more. Maybe that's part of his allure, part of his stock in trade. Yet for these stolen secret moments Brad feels as if this is the face Nate does not show to the court. Only him.

Nate leans forward, holding his gaze, so close that Brad longs to kiss him, to crush that mouth against his. "You kissed me, that day, when we talked, and I-"

"Would you want that once more?" Nate asks, that enigmatic look in those green eyes, more seductive than any of those French temptresses at court. His hand brushes against his skin so softly, tracing his features as if he would commit them to memory. Before he knows it, Nate is in his space again, so close that it would be a moment's work to give in and lean forward for that longed for kiss.

Brad blinks as if the ground has shaken beneath his feet. _He wasn't being foolish. Nate really does seem to want him._

"Is this what you desire?" he asks in a low urgent voice, needing to know for once and all that they both want the same thing, "-Nate?"

"What if I told you that ever since I met you I can't think of anything else? That my desires are driving me to distraction? I kept telling myself it was foolish since you didn't even trust me." Nate’s voice is low and tormented. “We have work to do and yet all I can think about is how much I want you. I did not even know if-” he falls silent for a moment, the blush rising to his cheeks.

"Good," With a flash of boldness, he presses his mouth to Brad's before he changes his mind. The moment his tongue is in his mouth, Nate is lost. At this point, it would probably take an act of God to keep them apart. Nate's hands tugging at his clothes, eager to get him skin against skin, touching him with reverence and admiration.

Nate wants it too, so badly, from what Brad can see. This is different from his encounters with the Princess and her maids. He’s with Brad from his own free will. The thought seems to give him a thrill of power, taking control of his own life and desires for the first time since he was a boy. Something secret, sacred and precious that he wants to keep to himself, lest the pressures of this corrupt court taint this.There’s give and take and want. So much want his skin practically tingles with it. _This is the man I chose to be with,_ his dreamy little smile seems to say.

Brad presses Nate against the doorway before they reach his bed, kissing him over and over, addicted to the taste of his mouth under his. his hand slides into his hair, pulling him ever closer, tracing the curve of his lips. The tension disappears from Nate as he relaxes under his touch, how deeply he needs this simple connection, something almost pure.

"Oh God, Nate." he sighs against the line of his neck. He hears Nate’s sigh of sheer pleasure in response and feels like a madness has entered his blood as he greedily palms him through his breeches.

"Stay with me." his voice is a breath against his skin as Nate presses his lips against the column of his throat.

Brad nods before they fall onto the bed.

* * *

The next evening

Everyone is in high spirits after the performance. It’s only natural that the court should celebrate so close to the wedding with a grand party. Catherine agrees and has allowed lavish funds for the extravagant celebration, in the hope of persuading Margot to reconcile with the fact of her wedding to Henri de Navarre in a couple of days. The entire place has been in an uproar all week, tailors, seamstresses and jewellers scrabbling to clothe the great and good for the gathering of the year.

Despite their best efforts, and Brad’s intense annoyance, the team get dragged into the mayhem.

“The things I do for the mission, ” he snipes as he’s poked for the fiftieth time with a barrage of pins.

“Suffering to be beautiful, Brad. I thought you’d worked that out by now?” grins Ray. Brad’s managed to persuade him out an outrageous ensemble more suited to one of Anjou’s mignons and now his friend is wearing a rather natty dark green velvet doublet and preening in the silvered mirror like a cat sated on an entire dairy.

“Please stand still, Lord Colbert-“ pleads the tailor in barely veiled exasperation at his fidgeting. “I’m still trying to get the cut of your hose absolutely right. You have a fine leg, sir; I would imagine you want to show it off to your best advantage.”

 

Sir Francis decides that their purposes would be best served if the team split up between Henri’s stag night, which was taking place round the streets of Paris and Margot’s celebration which was taking place in a fantastical pavilion on the palace grounds. Brad can see the silken tent being set up, all shades of red and pink fluttering slightly in the sparse breeze. As Nate is attending at her insistence, Brad makes a deal with Walt for him to cover the party instead. Nate doesn’t say anything when he hears of that; just gives him a dubious look.

“Look out for courtiers being drunk and indiscreet. This will be an ideal opportunity for you to make some headway with Anne-Marie de Guise, Brad." Walsingham urges him.

Brad would rather not go anywhere near her, but so far he doesn’t disabuse his boss of the concept.

“You want him to get her drunk? With all respect Lord W, that’s just a bit shady.” Ray says with mock seriousness. There’s a twinkle in his dark eyes that tells Brad he knows exactly how far to push it.

“I’m hardly asking you to assail her honour, Lord Colbert! Just be friendly, ply her with enough drink to get past her defences and start asking some questions. She’s de Guise’s sister. She works for Catherine, we know that now. Anne-Marie’s got to know something, Brad.”

Somehow, Brad isn’t entirely convinced of Sir Francis’s motives, but he knows an order from above when he hears one. He sighs, allowing the tailor to finish up his garment, resigning himself to his fate.

 

As the guests arrive for the party, the team look on, amazed by the casual luxury of this spoilt indolent court.

“And to think, the people in the street complain their coins cannot buy them enough bread for the month? We have rose petals on the floor!” mutters Brad, a bit disapprovingly. “Silken walls!”

“At least it’s cool and we need that at the moment, even at night.” Trombley’s already reaching for a goblet of cool white wine, eager to start drinking, but Brad manages to stop him.

“We’ll have time for that later." Brad reproves him, stopping his hand before he can take the goblet," Right now, we have to stay alert. We’re ‘on duty’, Trombley. I need you to have your wits about you tonight. Need I remind you that we're still on duty?”

"Not even a sip?" 

Brad shakes his head.

The young man gives a longing sigh at the cool glasses starting to circulate, but he obeys Brad for now.

 

The ladies of the court are keen to make the best entrance as they arrive fashionably late. Madeleine gives Brad a shy smile as she enters, her blue taffeta dress bringing out the colour of her eyes. There’s a wreath of white roses round her head and her hair streams down in a magnificent wheaten gold river.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Lord Colbert?” she remarks, her eyes twinkling with good humour.

“I can occasionally be dragged out for a social event.” He bends with a touch of gallantry over Madeleine's hand, making her flush prettily and glow with happiness.

She smiles back at him, dipping and swaying with a graceful movement, “Well, I’m glad you’re here at least.”

“May I?” Brad asks, politely taking her hand. “Let’s give them something to squawk about, Maddy?”

 

Anne-Marie pouts as she sees them head towards the dance floor, the two golden heads matching close enough to catch the eye, his blonde hair shining fair in the light.

_Why the hell is he wasting his time with that milksop girl Madeleine? What on earth can she have that I do not? Tonight’s the night. I have to make progress in seducing him. Catherine is breathing down my neck wondering why I have made no headway. I can’t keep fobbing her off with facts. She needs results._

"Lord Colbert?" she purrs, slinking up to him in a cloud of scent, which makes his nose twitch. She leans against the carved and gilded tent-pole and arches her back, giving him the benefit of acres of inviting perfumed cleavage. A starker contrast to Madeleine could not be found in the entire court. She eyes the poor girl with a malicious little smile, wordlessly telling her to make herself scarce. Brad senses the undercurrents between the two women and squeezes Madeleine's hand, keen to protect her from Anne-Marie's palpable dislike, which even he can sense. His paying attention to Madeleine seems to have sparked off her jealousy.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she asks her, and poor Madeleine blanches in sheer fear, her hand trembling in Brad's.

"I-" the younger girl starts to stammer.

"Run along now, there's a good girl!" she hisses, white sharp teeth bared in a grimace.

Madeleine is wise enough to take the unsubtle hint and flee before Anne-Marie takes more drastic measures.

"There, that's better!" Anne-Marie purrs triumphantly after vanquishing her rival.

Brad prays for patience. He doesn't trust Anne-Marie and her single-minded determination to get him into her bed. He doesn't trust her motives in the slightest. In all honesty, he doesn't even like her very much. Just a sense that she is a deeply unpleasant personality. Sir Francis wants him to ply her for information, however, and it's about time he started mining his sources. He is clever enough to realise he must keep his distance from her and her wiles. It is a balancing act he must master swiftly.

"Mademoiselle de Guise," he says, just polite enough that she doesn't take offence by his tone.

“Aren't you quite the elusive man?" She remarks, placing a hand on his chest and keeping him in place. He looks at her painted face, her golden doll-like beauty, and feels nothing but indifference and a faint hint of revulsion as her hand idly caresses the front of his doublet.

"I try to be." He's giving nothing away, not to her.

Anne-Marie seems to take no notice of his barely concealed hostility. She leans forwards, so close that she could almost kiss him if he so desired, the intimacy she is trying so hard to invoke reminds him of Nate so sharply once again, the family likeness is dizzying, and more than a little disturbing for Brad craves the sweet yielding of Nate in his arms that day when he kissed him, the night they finally made love, yielding to their craving for each other, and he wants to ward her away with the sign of the cross, repulsed by her ruthless nature.

"You're so upright. So preoccupied. It makes a girl wonder whether you could ever be distracted from your duty. Sir Francis can't work you that hard, can he?" 

Her glance slides towards Madeleine, eyes narrowed viciously as the other girl scurries away. Madeleine looks back for a moment and Brad makes a point of smiling at her, showing her far more favour than Anne-Marie.

Anne-Marie senses that she is losing him and renews her attentions, but Brad is not so receptive. It’s all so calculated and rehearsed, frankly, she leaves him absolutely cold. He doesn't much like her bullying of Madeleine either. She more than deserved that snub and there's a part of him that hopes it burns her.

* * *

Margot laughs as she selects her partners for the dance, confident and gorgeous in her beauty. Her flimsy pomegranate silk skirts flutter round her bare legs. She looks like some wild tempting vision with kohl darkened eyes and hair streaming wild and loose down her back. Every man in the room's eye drawn to her, like a dangerous yet alluring flame.

"How do I look, Nate?" she purrs, eager to sharpen her claws on him.

"As fair as always, my Lady."

“Dance with me, Nate.” She gives him a beguiling look from under her lashes, well aware of her allure. “One last time before I marry and have to leave. For old times’ sake.”

“My Lady, I have to work-“ he demurs, conscious of Brad’s eye on him. He feels that still watchful gaze on both of them like a brand. He feels caught between the two of them like a moth trapped by a flame.

She turns to Stafford and Christeson, languidly imperious and unlikely to take 'No' for an answer, “You boys can manage without him, can’t you?”

They sense that this is a command, not a statement, “Yes, Ma’am.” Stafford replies, ducking his head to hide a smile. Christeson nudges him.

She sweeps him away with her without a second glance.

*

Stafford and Christeson take up the insistent wild rhythm of the tarantella, every beat of the music inciting one to dance til you’re dizzy, to flirt, to fuck. There’s couples pressed up close to one another, kissing, undulating and writhing to the music. All trapped in the same amorous, decadent spell.

Nate is dragged out onto the dance floor with Margot. They dance close, reckless in their proximity. They revel in the intricacy and intimacy of the steps, her supple body coiling and undulating like a snake as he grips her hips and pulls her close to him. Brad can barely bear to look at them, clenching his hands with the sheer urge to drag Nate off the dance floor away from her wiles.

People stop to watch them dance the tarantella, cheering, whooping and urging them on as they dance. He catches her by the waist, easily lifting her high and swinging her as if she weighed nothing.

“You forget how accomplished and beautiful he is when he makes an effort-“ sighs Elise, watching him with admiring eyes by the refreshment table. She catches Trombley’s eye and gives him a shameless wink.

“-it’s such a crying shame that the de Guise clan won’t recognise him as one of their own. Nate could be one of the foremost nobles in the land. They have no right to withhold that title from him. It’s his by right through his mother, you know-“ Gillone replies. He eyes glitter with excitement and intoxication, enjoying the party for all she’s worth. “-frankly Father says it’s criminal the way that lad’s been treated by his own family. La Balafre and Henri de Guise have truly hated him since he was naught more than a boy-“

“You know we mustn’t talk of these things, not amongst strangers! Girls, where is your discretion?-“ Henriette reproves as she flits past in her pale grey and silver silken gown. Pearls glow against the fairness of her throat and bosom spilling out of her dress, the delicate lace open ruff edged in silver thread is a frame for her feminine curves.

“We’re just making idle conversation, Henriette-“

She gives them a withering glance, as if they have not the sense they were born with, and sweeps away.

There’s a kerfuffle at the far side of the tent as a new party of courtiers joins the celebration.

“What on Earth?” says Trombley, eyes bugging at the sight.

“What are you talking about?” asks Brad impatiently, Margot dancing that provocative Tarantelle with Nate, staking her claim on him publicly, has left him feeling peculiar, possessive in a way he has rarely felt before and does not much like. He has a strong feeling that she senses something between them, and is prepared to go to battle to retain her cloying unnatural hold over Nate.

“That.” Trombley points his goblet at the gatecrashers.

Anjou has crashed the bachelorette party, dressed in a jewel encrusted gown laced low at the front. Brad notices that his dress is similar in cut to hers, made in ice blue satin rather than the flimsy fluttering pomegranate, orange and gold silk layers of her gown.

“What in God’s name does he look like?” Brad mutters.

Margot’s eyes narrow fiercely as she spots her new guests, the security hovering uncertainly, not sure how to deal with the prince's gatecrashing. If it had been anyone else, they would have been able to bar him, or throw him out of the festivities, but everyone at court knows full well that Anjou is Catherine's favourite and it does not do to gainsay him, when he is perfectly capable of running to the Queen Mother and complaining, “What are you all doing here?” she asks her brother, her voice dangerously quiet. The music scrapes to a discordant stop as Margot faces down her brother.

Anjou gives her a smile of maddening charm. Brad sees her hands clench into fists beside her. He wonders how long it will be before she loses all self-control and attempts to hit him, “I thought we’d drop in and see how your festivities are going.” He looks down at her dress with another provoking smirk. “How charming, we even match, Margot. Almost as if we’d chosen a theme. Fire and Ice.”

She glares at him, thoroughly unimpressed by his sly provocation. As far as he can see there is little love lost there as far as Brad can see, “I don’t know what you are doing here, brother, but you should leave. Now.”

Anjou smirks at her, pleased to have gotten to her at last, “You’re not mad at me, are you?” he asks with an unmistakable flash of malice behind his mock innocent words. “Can I say you do look most delectably lascivious in that dress? I must get the custom of your modiste. She must be able to work miracles, judging by the cut of your bodice. _Ma foi_ , you haven’t looked so delectable in years,” his voice thickens with undisguised lust, as his gaze travels downward.

She shrinks away from him in utter disgust, her face twisted into a mask of hatred as she yanks her bodice up for added coverage,“Get out. Before I throw you out.” She hisses, hackles up like a spooked cat. Looking at her, Brad almost fancies he sees sparks of malevolence emanating from her, and he wonders what’s at the root of her deep hatred for her brother.

"Come, Margot-" he starts to wheedle, enjoying every moment of this, "Why so hostile, ma cherie? You must know I only wish to share in your happiness?"

She has had enough, whirling away from him in a temper, "Guards!"

Anjou knows when he has been bested, even temporarily. He shakes off the guiding presence of the guards with a thwarted scowl. "Fine, I only wanted to wish you well-" 

*

Across the other side of town, Walt and Ray are spending a rather awkward evening accompanying Henri de Navarre on his stag do. For some reason Alençon has decided to gatecrash the proceedings, drinking profusely and spitting out a stream of drink-sodden venom.

Alençon has a grin on his swarthy pockmarked face that can only mean trouble as he swills his wine down, spilling it over his doublet and making a sloppy mess,"Have you never asked yourself why is she so keen on that troubadour of hers? Always in the way, never says 'Boo' to a goose and yet every woman in the palace falls over themselves to caress and praise him?"

Henri frowns, trying to work out what Alençon is attempting to imply about his intended wife. "They're best friends. She was brought up with him. I do not begrudge her having friends, François Hercule. Why should I?" he says as reasonable as he can. His dark eyes are narrowed in dislike of the young prince.

Alençon gives him a unpleasant smile as he drains another goblet of wine with a piggy little glug, well on the way to being thoroughly drunk, "Is that the tale she told you? I had no idea that you were so trusting, Henri. That simply won't do, you know. She'll pull the wool over your eyes if you don't take care."

"I don't know what you mean." Henri says stiffly.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t worked it out? They’ve been sleeping with each other for years. Her and her adored page, when everyone’s back is turned. Every courtier pretends they don’t know the truth, but she scarcely bothers to hide her feelings. He’s more discreet but I suppose he has to be. It’s his job on the line if the scandal breaks.”

“Was that entirely necessary?”

Alençon’s mean dark eyes fix on Walt, enjoying all the discord he is causing.

“There’s another one of her paramours," he sneers, "Where did she pick you up then? Out on the streets of Paris? Did you give her the good rutting she demands? For you must know she is man mad. Ruled by her own desires. Mon Dieu, I think every man in Paris must have had her by now.You ought to be careful-” he slurs, eager to cause as much rancour as possible, “-that you don’t catch something, my Lord Hasser? A good dose of mercury should take care of it, I shouldn’t wonder-“

Henri catches him round the back of his head hard with his elbow. As Walt sees Henri strike the young prince as he moves past him, he winces. _That blow has got to have hurt, even though frankly Alençon deserved it for his poisonous words._

“Ah! you must excuse me, ma cousine. I am so clumsy and clot headed!” Henri protests.

Alençon scowls, rubbing the back of his head to Ray’s delight.

“Poisonous little shite. He only talks thus for he knows he hasn’t a chance with her. ‘Tis nothing but sour grapes!” Ray says in English.

Henri is giving him his most charming country bumpkin smile, but as Walt catches his eye, he would swear the young king gives him and Ray a wink.

* * *

St Germain 1568

The dream has started again.

She’s at the foot of the stairs, clinging onto the bannisters for dear life. The tears run down her face as she makes her body into a dead weight, refusing to allow herself to be moved. Anjou looks at her impatiently from the top of the stairs. 

"Will you come of your own free will, Margot, or do I have to drag you by your hair?" he snarls, advancing towards her.

She stares at him, a trapped animal at bay, scrabbling to get away from him."I won't! I won't. You can't make me. It's wrong, it's unnatural, you're sick!" Her voice rises hysterically as she finds the strength to defy him, breathless with panic, "Leave me alone!".

Catherine walks out onto the upper staircase. She pauses at the scene in front of her."Why are you making a scene? Everyone will hear you." the queen mother says in a voice of sheer malevolence. "Do you want all the courtiers to come running? Expose our private business to the world?"

"How can you stand aside and watch him do this to me? I am your child too, or have you forgotten?" Even though she knows her mother of old, Margot is still appalled at her callousness even in the face of Anjou's abuse.

Catherine's lip curls up into a sneer,"There's no need to be such a drama queen, Margot, it isn't as if you haven't granted him your favour already?" 

She turns away bitterly, knowing that she will get no compassion from her mother, not now and not ever. Catherine will never stop Anjou from doing exactly as he pleases.

Henriette runs to the door of the apartment and stops at the sight of her mistress. "Madame." She cries in shock at seeing Margot so distressed. Her lovely green velvet dress is ripped to shreds at the front.

Catherine turns fiercely on the little fiery haired duchesse. "Leave us. This is nothing to do with you. Go back to your room!" she snarls.

Henriette stands there, trapped between her innate instinct to obey the royal order, and horror for her mistress's plight. Her eyes meet Margot's.

Margot slowly shakes her head. It's enough to break Henriette's heart; the terrible defeated look in her eyes as she has to dismiss Henriette for her own sake."Go." she says. 

* * *

Fontainebleau, 1572

She’s being shaken awake by someone, the horrible dream dissolving at last into ominous shadows. As the world comes back into focus, she sees Henriette leaning over her, a concerned look on her pert little face. She closes her eyes briefly, ashamed of her weakness.

“Were you having the dream again, ma cherié?” Henriette says gently.

Margot nods. “Yes.”

Henriette plumps her pillows, hands her a hot spiced cider while she props her up in her bed. “Drink this. All of it. No arguing.” the look on her face brooks no argument.

She swallows it dutifully, the spices burning the back of her throat. Margot suspects the drink has been spiked with something far stronger than herbs, but she can’t deny the comfort seeping through her veins as the drink does it’s work. 

Henriette plumps her pillows, fussing over her friend, trying hard to comfort her in her unhappiness,“What are we going to do? Third time this week.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Margot asks, dreading the answer.

“You were crying out fit to wake the dead. I had to order the other girls to go back to bed and ignore it.”

Margot looks remorseful, ashamed of her weakness. “I didn’t mean to keep you up, truly I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to talk about this?”

“I don’t know if I can.” Margot says candidly. 

“My lady-“

“I said I don’t wish to speak of it!” snaps Margot. Looking at her, she looks overwrought, dark shadows under her eyes, "Henriette, will I never be free? I can't live like this-" her voice breaks off into a sob. As she looks into her mistress's eyes Henriette can see the strain of all her fears weighing down on her, the past like a dark smothering weight threatening to drag her down.

“Do you want me to get Nate?” Henriette asks her softly, knowing he is the only person who can calm her when she gets into a state like this.

“No, I’ll go to him myself. Cover for me?”

Henriette nods, even though she suspects this is a bad idea. 

*

Brad’s tracing Nate’s bare skin with his fingertips as they lie in bed together. “No regrets still?”

“How could I have any regrets, Brad?”

They’re settling into a long deep kiss when there’s a distinct knock on the door. As soon as Nate hears the rhythm, he freezes with a muttered curse.

“What’s wrong?” Brad mutters against his skin, sucking gently at the warm inviting hollow of Nate's collarbone, just to hear the frankly delicious little sigh from him.

Nate gently pushes him away. “It’s her.”

“Her?” Brad sits up in bed and looks at Nate.

“My lady Margot.”

He suspected something of the sort was going on, but to have proof now, when they are engaged in lovemaking of their own is jarring.

“Does she always knock on your door for convenient sex? Very comfortable arrangement you have there.” Though Brad’s voice is still even, he can hear the disappointment in it.

“I have to find out what she wants.” Nate starts to rise from his bed.

“No, you don’t.” Brad says firmly, pulling him back down for another kiss. “My lady Margot is just going to have to learn that she does not own you, body and soul.”

For a moment Brad thinks that Nate is going to yield to his attentions and forget the interruption, but he pulls away once more. Nate shakes his head, extricating himself from Brad’s body most reluctantly. “You do not want to deal with the epic temper tantrum that will result. Trust me.”

 

When Nate opens the door, she steps into his room without a second glance. She seems distracted, pacing back and forth restlessly.

“Daisy, what are you doing here? It’s the dead of night.” He says watching her warily. _This is the most appalling timing,_ Nate curses his luck that tonight, of all nights, she would want his undivided attention.

“I had the nightmare again. I knew it would happen. He was taunting me again at the after-party. I don’t trust him. He’s getting bolder. What shall I do, Nate?” she pleads.

_Not now, why now?_

“You need to go back to sleep. You’re making yourself sick with all this fretting.” her urges, trying to reassure, conscious and aware of Brad lying in his bed, wondering what the hell she wants this late at night.

“I can’t-“ She says in a small voice, so like the little girl he once knew her as.

“What is troubling you, my lady?”

“When I marry Henri I will be a Bourbon, not a Valois. I will be fair game for my mother and her plots. She will stop at nothing to keep my brothers on the throne. I know she thought nothing of harming Aunt Jeanne. What if I’m next?”

“What makes you think you’ll be next?” Nate runs his hand through his rumpled hair, self-conscious of the mark on his collar bone from Brad's mouth which she has failed to notice in her preoccupation and distress.

“I know how she thinks.” she says darkly. “This marriage is nothing less than a death sentence, served cold by my own mother.”

“Are you sure this isn’t some melancholy brought on by lack of sleep?” Nate has to ask, concerned about the dark melancholy spiral of thought she seems to be wallowing in, obsessing over plots and intrigues. All this brooding is not healthy, she'll make herself sick if she continues down this dark self-destructive path.

Margot shakes her head. “No, Nate. I’ve heard her. She’s planning something around the wedding, but I don’t know what. No one will tell me anything and that scares me.”

Nate’s mental warning signals go off instantly. He wants to go and discuss this with Brad or Sir Francis, but he can’t right now, as she’s not even meant to know that Brad is lying in his bed half naked at this very moment.

“What’s she planning? What are you so afraid of, my lady?”

She twists away from him, suspicious and distracted, “Why are you being so secretive? You haven’t even invited me into your chamber yet?”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Margot-“ he tries to restrain her, but she shakes off his hand impatiently.

Margot pushes the door of his bedroom open, despite Nate’s protests. Her face drains of all colour as she sees Brad in his bed. For a terrible moment that stretches uncomfortably all three are completely silent, frozen in shock.

"No!-" A sob escapes her as she pushes past Nate without another word and runs out of the chamber.

 

“Are you going to go after her?” Brad asks eventually.

He does not want to hurt Brad, and he knows that this will not go down well, but he knows his duty, “I don’t have a choice.”

“That’s not true, Nate, is it?” 

Nate reaches out to touch, to make physical contact but Brad shakes him off. 

“I promise I will come straight back. I’ll be less than five minutes. Please, Brad. I just need to make things right. I can’t alienate her. Not when my position and livelihood depend on her.”

Brad’s face doesn’t move as if it were carved out of marble. He says nothing, but Nate feels as if he is being judged. He’s been weighed in the balance and been found wanting.

“Do as you please, Nate. You made no promise to me.” He says eventually, his voice turned cold.

 

Nate knocks on the door of Margot's rooms, cursing the fact that he's still half-dressed. It's hardly decent but this is an emergency. Exactly the situation he was trying to avoid.

"Please open the door!" He knocks again, growing ever more frantic as his calls go unanswered. _Now would not be a good time to be discovered by any stray courtiers, frankly._

Eventually the door is pulled open and Henriette stands in the entrance looking ferocious. The fiery curls on her head practically quiver with outrage."You!” She moves to slam the door back in his face, but Nate's already there blocking the door, determined to see his mistress.

"Henriette, please, I need to see my lady urgently. Don’t obstruct me-"

She snarls as she pulls him close, a fistful of doublet in her small fist. "I told you not to break her heart and what did you go and do? You idiot! Traitor!"

She swings for him, but he catches her hand before it connects with his face, gripping her wrist hard. She struggles and squeaks with sheer frustration, wanting to hurt him as much as he's hurt her mistress, "Please, Madame de Nevers. Dear loyal Henriette-" he tries to soothe her temper.

"Tell me why I shouldn't slam this door right on your foot and call the guard?" she spits, even though he can see she is slowly starting to relent. Her face twists into a fierce scowl, dark eyes snapping and sparking.

"How bad is it?"

Henriette clucks her tongue, Nate's charm working on her at last. "She had The Nightmare worse than ever. I couldn't help her. Always the same, ever since the party. She is obsessed that they're planning something horrible and she's being shut out.”

Nate groans. _No wonder she turned up in his room. Perhaps she wasn’t just coming there for sex for a change. What a mess. I try to please everyone and in conclusion end up pleasing no one._

“She's terrified something is going to happen after the wedding, but she won't or can't tell me what. She came to you for comfort, and you broke her heart. How long has this been going on with Lord Colbert?"

This is the second time Nate's heard this and he wants to get this investigated by the team as soon as possible. _Who knows? It might be nothing but maybe, just maybe the team need to find what Catherine's planning._

"Henriette, please don't be like this. I just want to make things right. And I'm not talking to you about Lord Colbert, now or ever." He has to set limits. There are some things that should remain private and sacred, locked away inside, not for the consumption of the court.

Henriette sees things so clearly. She shakes her head almost pityingly, though her loyalties will always be with his mistress. "You're infatuated with him, aren't you? Mon Dieu, what a tangled mess-" her brow raises, shrewd and worldly, "-that was why none of the Esquadron could succeed, is it not? Poor Anne-Marie and Charlotte!" she starts to chuckle, rueful and slightly cynical. “It’s going to take a lot more than a couple of fine words to make this one right. You know that, don’t you?”

He sighs, "Henriette, I know. Only too well. I truly never meant to hurt either of them-"

"And yet hurt them you will, it cannot be helped, it's already done." She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, "- all I ask is that you let her down gently, for the love of God, for last time I had to pick up the pieces it was not easy, and I never want to see my dear friend brought so low again. Please, Nate?"

He nods, for what on earth can he say to her plea?

When he returns to his bed, it is empty, even though the sheets are still warm. He can't blame Brad for leaving, even though he feels terrible for how things have turned out. Wearily, he sits by the fire with a book open on his lap for the rest of the night, even though he hardly takes in a word.

*

The next day

Nate is having trouble getting hold of Brad. He knows they have to talk this out if he‘s serious about any relationship with him.

“Can we talk, Lord Colbert?” he asks, as they meet in the garden. He see Brad’s jaw tense in the afternoon light. _He’s still angry at me. He resents me for going to her. Doesn’t he understand I didn’t have a choice?_

“So talk, Nate“ he says bluntly, striding ahead so quickly Nate has to struggle to keep up.

“Brad, don’t be like this-“ he starts, inadvertently putting his hand on his arm. Brad gives him such a silent eloquent look, full of banked down hurt that he hastily withdraws it, feeling like he's overstepped himself. 

Brad turn round to face him for the first time. “Like what exactly?” That crisp politeness is sharp enough to cut, and he deserves this. He knows he deserves all of this.

“Cold and distant.” He can’t help thinking that right now the boot’s on the other foot. _Doesn’t he normally hear this coming out of Margot’s mouth whenever she’s trying to wheedle herself back into his affections?_

“I let you get under my skin. I took my eyes off the prize, but trust me that’s never going to happen again.”

“Nothing happened, I promise. I didn’t even get to see my lady, Henriette wouldn’t let me. I know-” he stops, knowing that his actions have pushed Brad away, made him feel as if he would always be second best to Margot, even if that is no longer true.

“-And in five year’s time? Ten years time? Are you prepared to be at her beck and call for the rest of your life? Dropping everything as soon she whistles?” Brad says brusquely. “Can’t you see she’s using you, Nate? Or are you so dazzled by her royal blood and her beauty that it doesn’t matter?”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Nate says, nettled despite his best intentions.

Brad shakes his head, new determination on his face, “I’m not doing this. I won’t wait while you try and make up your mind which one of us you want and then she reels you back in again as soon as she feels a little bored or amorous.”

“You don’t understand. And yet you would condemn me for trying to make things right.”

Brad closes his eyes in sheer frustration. “Then make me understand! What hold does she have that you come trotting to her heels when she calls? Are you content to live your life like this? To be nothing but a Valois puppet? ”

Nate hears the unspoken plea, and he wishes fervently that he could make things right, but Margot's hasty entry into his chambers and her discovery of them, just at that new vulnerable time of their relationship has blighted everything. He looks at him with sad eyes, full of regret. He reaches for Brad and then pauses, thinking better of his natural impulse. _I should have known all of this was too good to be true, that Margot would reel him back in,_

“There are some secrets that are not mine to tell, Brad.”

Brad looks at for him for a long moment, as if there are volumes he would like to say, but in the end he decides to hold his tongue, "Nate, those secrets will destroy you, if you let them." he says quietly as he leaves him.

* * *

Vincennes, 1567

 

Nate knocks on the door of Catherine’s office. For the first time in a while, he is actually afraid of what might happen. Catherine has probably thought over the events of last week, influenced by Anjou and his lies. She will sling him out on his ear, and where will he go then? 

The thought of telling Godfather and Sir Francis that he failed in his mission doesn’t even bear thinking about. Nate has no illusions about either of them, as avuncular as Sir Francis appears to the outside world. Sir Francis is a ruthless man. There’s no way that he will allow Nate to survive once he has outlived his usefulness. He knows far too much now to be allowed to live a peaceful life.

“Is that you, Nathaniel? Come in-”. Her voice comes from the depths of the office.

Maddalena opens the door, but Nate is rooted to the spot.

“Go on then. My lady doesn’t have time to waste.” Her grin broadens unpleasantly. “Don’t tell me you’re trembling, are you? Nathaniel the virtuous?”

Her mockery gives Nate to strength to defy her. ‘No. What have I got to be afraid of?’ He walks straight past her into the room.

 

“Shut the door behind us, Maddalena. I do not want to be disturbed by anyone right now.” Catherine remarks casually as the maid announces his arrival.

“Sit down, Nathaniel dear.” She says. “Please, there’s no need to stare at me with those big green eyes like I was an ogre ready to eat you-”

Nate says nothing, waiting for her to make the first move.

“I had a think about the disturbing things that you told me about what happened last week." She says cosily before he can speak, “I will deal with Anjou. You should have no fear of that. You did the right thing, telling me the awful truth about that night.”

Nate knows she indulges the spoilt prince most disgracefully. There’s no way he’s going to be brought to any kind of justice. The injustice stings, but there’s nothing Nate can do about it.

“I understand that Anjou destroyed some of your property during the attack. Your room was wrecked and your instruments were destroyed.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” He replies, not sure of where she is going with this.

“As a token of his remorse and my unhappiness at what happened, I would be pleased if you would accept these as an apology-”. She indicates with a well-shaped hand a pile of items behind her. She picks up the first item, handing it to him.

Nate can’t quite believe his eyes. Catherine has just handed him a new lute, far better than his familiar instrument. He traces the mother of pearl inlays, beautifully set into an intricate pattern. He can’t resist plucking the strings, hearing the clear lovely resonance of a superior instrument.

“I thought you would appreciate a new instrument. I’m no expert, but I’m told that this lute has a wonderful tone and keeps it’s tuning far better than most instruments on the market. A musical talent like yours should have a quality instrument to reflect it, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t know what to think. _On one hand, he really does need a new instrument. But can he accept this under the circumstances?_

“That’s not all… come, Nate. Have a look. This is a new harpsichord to replace the one that Anjou smashed in his fury. Isn’t it elegant? I even asked them to decorate it with a sun and moon motif. I know how fond you and Margot are of the emblem-”. She gives him a sly look from under her lashes. “Try it out, Nate. I’ve arranged for someone to sort out the damage in your room, replace the hangings which were wrecked. Wouldn’t that be good? Perhaps some new clothing? You’re a young man now, growing up fast. Surely you’d like to cut a more fashionable figure at court? A promisingly handsome lad like yourself?” 

“What do you want in return?” he asks evenly. He knows that Catherine must have some ulterior motive attached. What other reason would she have for lavishing him with presents?

“I’m hurt that you don’t seem to trust me, Nathaniel? Haven’t I always treated you like one of my own? I promised your father and your aunt that I would regard you as one of my own. That you would be the envy of every lad in France.”

Nate wonders whether she really does believe that, or is she so mired in her own hypocrisy she can’t see how laughable her own words are.

“Perhaps you will change your mind if I reveal my final gift to you, dear boy. I have found the money and worked all my Italian contacts to get you a scholarship.”

“A scholarship?”

“Yes! I have contacted some of the greatest teachers in Italy to agree to teach you for a couple of years. Lord knows I should have done it sooner, but Margot was so fond of you, I didn’t want to upset her by parting you.” Catherine says brightly. “You will be leaving in a week, so I’d better let you go, so you can start to pack. Isn’t it exciting, Nathaniel?” her smile spreads unpleasantly since she knows she has him thoroughly outmanoeuvred.

*

Margot waits for him outside. She’s still pale and shaken but she tries to reassure him by giving him a wobbly smile, “What did she say, Nate?” she asks, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

“Come into the garden.” He says. He has no idea of how he’s going to tell her of Catherine’s decision. The thought that he’s going to have to leave his mistress is still difficult for him to grasp.

Her dark blue eyes look at him fearfully. Nate sees the pallor in her face and hopes she isn’t about to faint. She clings on to him. “It’s bad, isn’t it? She’s going to dismiss you because of what happened-“

They go out in the garden where at least they can get some privacy. Elise and Henriette follow discreetly, but they realise something is up and keep their distance. Nate can see them out of the corner of his eye, craning their necks to see over the lavender hedge and nudging each other like naughty maids.

“However bad it is, please tell me.” Margot pleads. “I’m worried sick here.”

There’s no painless way to say this, not to her. “My Lady Margot, I have to leave. I’m sorry-”

She reels, as if struck to the heart."You have to leave? You have to leave where? Court?"

All he can do is nod. 

"No!"

Nate catches hold of her, convinced that she’s going to faint. “Daisy, please don’t cry.” He strokes her face, trying to calm her.

“I knew she would do this." her lip trembles, "She knows I need you. Why do you have to go?”

“Queen Catherine has given me a scholarship to Italy. To shut me up, so I will never say a word about it. She wants me to leave in a week.”

“A week?” she stares at him, clutching so tightly to his fine tan leather doublet he fears she will rip it, “Why is she so keen to get rid of you? What have you done? All you did was try and defend me.”

He feels the injustice as keenly as she does, but what can he do? He has his orders.

“Nate, what is it?” 

He looks down, ashamed of the game Catherine had played with him. 

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

His voice was bitter with self-loathing. “You should see the bounty that she has bestowed on me for my silence.”

“The bounty?” Margot is taken aback.

His jaw tightens, as he is forced to tell her of her mother's scheme, “New instruments, new everything. And all for a price: my silence.”

“I knew it! She’s going to shush it up. To cover her darling Anjou’s crimes. Because God forbid, he should ever be held to account for what he does!” she says bitterly. “I don’t judge you for accepting. Mother can be very persuasive when she wants to be. How long is she sending you away for?”

“I don’t know.” he says honestly. So far she seems to taking this calmly despite her tears. No hysterics yet.

“Please don’t leave me, Nate. I can’t bear it. I need you!”

He strokes the dark silk of her hair, trying to soothe her.

“I’ll beg her on my knees to change her mind. You haven’t done anything wrong. How can she separate us now, after what has happened?”

“My lady, I don’t have a choice. I am nothing but a servant, and must do your mother’s bidding. Since it pleases her to send me away, I cannot stay.”

She’s panicking now at the thought this is the last time she’ll ever see him. “What shall I do without you? Nate, I can’t lose you, I can’t. She’ll never let you come back. I’ll never see you again.” She starts to sob incoherently, clinging to him like a child about to lose it's mother, “Don’t leave...I love you...please, Nate. Don’t leave me alone here...I’m so scared.”

“Daisy, please-“ her pleading is truly heart-wrenching, but he’s powerless against Catherine and her machinations. He has to be strong for her, for both of them.

“She always does this. To anyone I love. She does it to hurt me, I know it. And she knows. She knows I love you, I always have. How can I live without my sun? How can she want me to live in darkness? What happens if I’m forced to marry some foreign prince and move away from my native land? “ she dissolves into bitter copious tears, streaming down her face and reddening her eyes.

“I promise I will come back for you. I promise, Daisy.” He says comfortingly into her hair, holding her tightly. "As soon as I am allowed, for you-" he murmurs sweet soothing sounds, kissing her tears away even as they flow, the salt tasting bitter on his lips even as he does.

"But what if we have no choice? What if this is it, forever?" She is so desolate that he has no answer for her, for he is grieving inside himself.

*

The horses are just about to depart as night falls. Nançay was kind enough to offer to escort him to the outskirts of the province, realising that Nate would be surrounded by strangers on his long journey to Italy. The offer, as brusque as it was gives Nate some slight comfort, make the whole affair feels slightly less than a banishment from the only home he has ever known.

“We must hurry. What are we lingering for?” says one guard, impatient to depart.

Nate turns miserably, the glimmer of hope fading swiftly. _Maybe she found it impossible to get away from the palace tonight. Perhaps Anjou was bothering her, even now._ The thought of that has his hands tightening on the reins, teeth gritted against the horror of the thought and the fact that he is powerless to protect Margot from her brother’s wickedness now.

“Wait! Please, wait-” A feminine voice cries out, bursting from the shadows. She’s heavily cloaked and masked, but Nate turns at the sound of her voice, hope dawning anew on his face. “-Don’t leave yet, Monsieur de Nançay, I beg you!”

“Daisy-“ he says, climbing down from his steed.

She throws herself into his arms, covering his face with desperate kisses.

“Let me see you, Daisy. One last time.”

She takes off her mask, revealing her tear-stained face and reddened eyes.

“You mustn’t weep for me, Daisy.” Nate says trying to comfort her.

“Promise me you will come back. Give me a little hope.” She sobs. She bites her lip, utterly distraught by the thought of leaving him.

“As soon as I can. As soon as I’m allowed, I will. Nothing will keep me from you.”

In their grief, neither cares who sees them clinging tightly as if they cannot bear to be parted for those last precious moments.

“I wish I could go with you. I wish, oh how I wish we could be together!” she vows.

*

“So we must wait while ‘lover boy’ here bids his sweetheart farewell? Surprised he hasn’t got a whole bevy of them gnashing and wailing away like a Greek chorus.”

Struck by sympathy for the star-crossed lovers, Nançay’s voice is sharper than usual. “Do you realise who the girl is?”

“No.”

Nançay draws him close and whispers in his ear. “Take a bloody good look. It’s the Princesse. Do you understand? Give the lad time to say goodbye.”

“The Princesse?” The guard asks, scarcely hiding the incredulity in his voice as he watches them. “All over the lad, like a dockyard tart?” the guard takes another look and his mouth drops open. His captain was not jesting. It really is her at a second glance. Those big blue eyes, that distinctive Valois nose, the familiar cultured voice. “-No wonder he has to leave court in a hurry!”

* * *

As Nate rides back to the palace, he notices every little change in the two years since he left the court. The copse on the left side, which has been chopped down for firewood. The violets in the grass which remind him of Margot’s eyes.

 _I don’t know how I’m going to fit back into the court culture. Will I even be welcome there?_ He asks himself. He’s been practicing his French but he knows that there’s a subtle creep of Italian accent in his voice since his stay abroad. Though he has tried to be careful in the Italian heat he has a sun-kissed spray of freckles on his cheeks.

 _Will she even care about me? Or will things be awkward between each other, like we’d outgrown our passionate attachment?_ Henriette wrote to him regularly. He still keeps her letters, gossipy witty pages and pages in a clear firm hand. But he knows it’s not the same.

A woman rides up, a hawk on her wrist. He can see by the flame red of her hair that it has to be Henriette de Nevers, her hat set at a jaunty angle.

“Nate?” she holds him at arm’s length, scrutinising him. _“Ma foi,_ the prodigal finally returns! Let me feast my eyes on you.” She smiles at him. “My God, you will break some hearts at court! But then you were always a gorgeous boy, weren’t you? I must tell her you’re here. It will make her so happy at last. My Lady? Margot?” she calls. “Come quickly! Come quickly, ma cherie!”

She rides up at speed, on her familiar roan pony. Her falcon poised on her wrist. _One thing at least hasn’t changed,_ he thinks. _She still rides like a crazy woman, at almost reckless speed._

“Hold my falcon.” She says to her attendant, pulling her pony to a stop.

She moves to leap off her horse. Nate rushes forward to help her and gets an armful of curvy enthusiastic princess. He isn’t prepared for the sharp blow of desire in his gut, the strength of his sheer want. He never stopped wanting her, not for one day of his exile, and now...

 _Oh God, I’m in trouble, aren’t I?_ He tells himself.

“You came back-“ she breathes, smiling at him dreamily.

“Didn’t I promise I would, Daisy?” he tells her, wanting to wipe away the faint shadows under her eyes, bring the roses back into her pale cheeks.

She’s impulsively pressing her lips against his. Henriette is making an effort to pretend that she isn’t desperate to find out what is going on. The suspense must be killing her.

“Of course I’m happy. You came back to me.” She gives him a long sweet kiss, drawing him close, despite the growing audience. “My heart’s desire, my gift from God-“ she murmurs with a soft contented smile. He wraps his arms round her.

*

De Guise rides up on his horse, surprised to see the party has stopped here in the forest.

“What the hell is this? He was banished! Why is he here?” rages Henri de Guise, sick with fury that his rival is back in France. That Nate dared to return to the palace and Margot has taken him back as if he’d never been away. Even worse she’s wrapping herself round him like a sweetheart, caressing him as if she will never let him leave her side again. After all the hard work he’d done to woo her into the idea of a de Guise union, she craves the wrong de Guise!

Nate looks at him and a provoking smile spreads across his face as he spots his cousin. De Guise fights an urge to tear the upstart from her arms, but he knows she would never tolerate that. _She was pining for him! How could she?_

“Welcome, ma cousin.” He says, all politeness, though the words choke him.

* * *

He hears their secret knock on the door and gets up to let her in.

“Daisy? What are you doing here?” he asked.

She sits on the bed and makes herself at home, kicking her beaded satin slippers off. Nate’s used to her doing things like this, it’s just her way.

“I have something I have to ask you.” She says in a rush. As he looks at her, he notices she colours self-consciously.

“What is it, dear Daisy. You know you can tell me anything. I would never judge you.”

She looks right at him, her dark blue eyes very bright. He notices she’s practically quivering with some kind of emotion. _Fear? Excitement? It’s difficult to tell._

Margot leans forward and whispers in his ear.“I want to you to make love to me. Here. Tonight.”

Even though he knows he desires her and she is insanely in love with him, to hear her say it so bluntly still shocks him.

“You want me-“ he asks, his mind racing. He doesn’t quite know how to react, like the ground has suddenly shifted underneath him as the stakes have risen dizzyingly. “Why, Daisy?”

“I want to sleep with someone I love, and who loves me. For who I am. Marguerite. Instead of someone who sees my title. Instead of him.” She adds with a bitter cynical edge to her voice.

He freezes, knowing exactly of whom she speaks. “Has he?-“ he starts to ask, not sure if he really wants to know the truth. If he is still bothering her.

“No.” She says shortly, a brittleness in her voice he doesn’t recognise. “That’s in the past. He will never touch me again. I’m sure of it.”

He doesn’t want to press her how she knows this, when Anjou is so very determined to have his own way, but he needs to know whether he’s walking into a royal trap, his career at court, nay, his life depend on it, “-And Charles?”

“He wants to forget it ever happened. I don’t blame him. I wish that-”

“-That you could forget so easily?”

She nods, grateful for his understanding.“You’ll do this for me?” she says, looking so unsure that Nate draws her into his arms and holds her. She relaxes under his touch, the tension leaching out from her slender frame.

“If you’re sure-“ he breathes. “Daisy-“ 

She nods, looking at him candidly. “Of course, I’m sure. As sure as I have been of anything in my entire life. Oh, Nate-“

 _She trusts him entirely. Does she even understand the import of what she is asking him to do for her tonight? They shouldn’t strictly speaking even be alone together._ He wonders how she managed to wangle that one, surrounded by hangers-on and courtiers. De Guise looking on jealously whenever they spent time with each other. _A princess like her lives constantly in the public eye. If Catherine ever finds out: if she disapproves...the danger doesn’t even bear thinking about. He risks imprisonment, maybe even worse. What right does he a mere commoner by comparison have to be wooing a Princess of the Blood?_

“Let down your hair.” He whispers with tenderness. He loosens the pins, withdrawing them slowly until it falls down in a sweet scented abundant mass. He buries his face in it.

“Don’t be afraid to touch me, Nate. I want you to.” She says into his ear. She guides his hands to the hooks and eyes of her cream satin gown until it pools on the floor. He moves behind her, unlacing her corset watching her face in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are dark with arousal. His hands trace the pale pearly white flesh uncovered at last once the corset came off.

“Oh god-“ he sighs with reverence in his voice as he touches her, knowing that he was getting caught in the web of intrigues and plots with an inevitability he should have foreseen but had no means to escape. _Forgive me, save us both. Redeem us, if you can._ The sweet womanly curves of her body entrance him. The lost years have turned her into a woman now, ripened her body into something no red-blooded male could resist.

“I wish I could come to you like a bride. Yours and yours alone. But I cannot-“

“Don’t think about it, my lady.” she knows what he cannot say, _I care for you. I know the truth and I love you still..._

She smiles as the last of her clothing drops to the floor. She climbs on top of him and kisses him deep and languorously, her hands undoing his clothes to join hers on his floor.

*

Nate lies beside her afterwards, wondering whether he’s blown it? _Did I make the right decision? I’m going to have to report to Sir Francis,_ he tells himself, cringing at the thought. This new fragile thing with Margot has changed the game completely. It’s very likely that Sir Francis and Godfather will be angry with him for getting too involved.

 _How does she feel? Does she have any regrets?_ He turns to look at her and notices the slow tears rolling down her cheeks. A stab of horror travels through him. _Oh God, what have I done?_

“Daisy?” he asks unsurely. 

She smiles back at him through her tears. Nate can’t help being relieved. 

“I’m sorry to be so silly and emotional. Crying like some stupid maiden-”

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asks anxiously. 

“Of course not.” She presses sweet kisses to his mouth to reassure him, “You have set me free, Nate. You have unlocked the cage. You’ve set me free, don’t you see? I never thought it could be like that. Giving myself to someone I love.”

He understands what she doesn’t want to vocalise. That what they had, what just happened never happened with Charles or Anjou.

* * *

Nate is in the music room, straightening up his manuscripts. Whoever took over from him left the place in a right mess. Nothing was in order. He swiftly checks his cubbyhole where he stores his more sensitive pieces of evidence and paperwork. Lifting the stone flag and replacing it with care.

De Guise and De Nevers barge into the room and loom in the doorway. Nate notices the shadows and straightens up ignoring the hot surge of resentment in his gut.These two in his territory, trying to vaunt their superiority over him. He sees de Nevers hanging back in the doorway and he has to repress an urge not to strike him for what he did to Margot that night. _Thank God, they saw nothing, but it was a close call!_

_I must remain calm here. I cannot allow them to provoke me into anger. Not when I must maintain my cover for Sir Francis._

“If you’re going to come in, then do so and do not linger by the door-“ he calls. “What do you want?” 

Henri de Guise irritates like a teazle stuck to his cloak and Nate no longer has the patience to deal with him and his petty bullying. 

“Why are you here, Nathaniel? Why did you come back?”

Nate bridles at the hostility in de Guise’s tone. _Nothing much has changed, I see. He’s just as rude and arrogant as ever._

“I was summoned by the king and so I returned.”

The mildness in his voice only serves to infuriate de Guise further. The infuriated flush of his handsome face gives him away, clashing with his golden good looks, so like Nate's own. 

“Then maybe you should leave, now that you have returned.”

“Why would I want to do that, pray?” Nate says, maintaining that insolent politeness that he knows gets to de Guise more than any rude words or sallies of wit.

“You had to come back and spoil everything. Hanging round the Lady Margot dancing attendance on her every whim.” Henri lashes out, venom seeping into his bitter tone. 

“I was asked to return, so I did. I merely obey orders like a good courtier should.”

De Guise growls, unable to argue with Nate’s logic.

"While you are here there is something I would like to ask you about, since you have ignored my correspondence on the matter, ma cousin. My title. Comte de Tournelles. I was to inherit after my parents passed away.”

Henri sneers, taken aback by Nate's insistence, “I don’t know what you talking about. I don’t owe you anything.”

Nate is staggered by the brazen thievery and dishonesty of the man. Henri has refused to respond to his letter even after he had got the lawyers and notaries involved and threatened to drag them through the courts, “You stole my birthright and I demand it back. It was my mother’s by right. It has nothing to do with the de Guise family.”

Henri leans right into Nate’s personal space, his mocking laughter ringing in his ears. It takes all of Nate’s self-control not to strike out at him.

"Come, Henri, we should go-" de Nevers starts to say, "-there is no need to needle him-"

“What are you going to about it?” de Guise gives him a malevolent grin, enjoying his antagonisation of Nate. “I would rather be dead or a beggar than give you that title. You will have it and the Lady Marguerite over my dead body.”

Nate longs to wipe the smug look off his face; to let him know in no uncertain terms that Margot craves him, is insatiable in her need for him and to be frank, he's had her dozens of times since he came back, in every deserted glade and hidden corner of the palace, but he keeps silent, just to provoke his cousin into a murderous rage.

“I swear to you, Henri, that I will have what is mine. You will grant me the title,even if Ihave to drag you through every court in France for't.”

De Guise bares his teeth in a grimace, "We shall see about that, _cousin._ " he sneers

* * *

Present Day, Fontainebleau

Brad and Nate walk into the forest, deeper into the heart of it until they are all alone and there’s no one about.

“You wanted us to talk.” Brad says, the coolness apparent in his voice.

“I know you’re angry with me." Nate starts, knowing that he was in the wrong and he has handled this whole situation badly. "Believe me, Brad, I never wanted for this to happen. All I can ask is your forgiveness, though I deserve it not." 

Brad has a whole host of things he would like to get into the open and say, wild thoughts like: 'Did you really want me, or was this one of your cruel courtly games?', “Answer me this: Am I the first?” he eventually manages to say.

Nate sighs. “Do you really need to ask this of me, Brad. Do you really want to know?”

There is a look of pained determination on Brad's face, as he steels himself for rejection, to hear the worst, “Yes. I need to know. Can you understand that? I want to trust you. I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re prepared to walk away from all this. Because you feel you can’t trust me? What do you think I am hiding from you then?”

“Your relationship with the lady Margot. What Lord Ferrando and Lord Walsingham have you doing in this viper pit.”

“I told you when we first met that I don’t have the luxury of being a moral man. Perhaps you didn’t comprehend what I meant by that.” Nate looks him right in the eye, daring Brad to judge him for the circumstances of his life at court, the moral compromises he is forced into day after day in Sir Francis's service and living with the volatile, beautiful, unstable Margot, and her dependence on him, “This is the life I lead. I steal, I listen at doorways, I copy and forge and betray and lie every single day. I’m not proud of it and the things I have done but I do what I must to survive.”

Brad was surprised that Nate would talk so candidly about himself and his obligations to Sir Francis. Nate must trust him a great deal to do such a thing, to open up to him as to no one else, “I don’t care about that, Nate. What I care about is the fact that you’re still involved with her. She still...well, she still loves you.”

Nate does not deny it, leaving Brad to wonder just how much he returns her feelings, if at all. He certainly seemed to harbour a lot of emotion about the princess. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I would not have you judge me.”

“Do you truly believe this life is all deserve? To be nothing more than a royal plaything? Don’t you see Nate, there’s a whole world out there. Away from this place and it’s snares. You want it. I know you do. That day we talked at the Hotel de Guise. You said if you’d never left Ballykirlan. If you could have lived a normal life, you would have been happier.” Even though he is starting to realise that it's hopeless, he still has to try and reach him.

"Aye Brad, I would have," Nate says with a weariness that hurts to listen to, “Do you think that I ever had a choice in the matter?”

He probably never did, Brad realises. Lord Walsingham and Godfather have controlled his every move since he was a boy.

“Father admitted his guilt. He owned up to his mistake and Walsingham and Ferrando granted him his life and even a measure of mercy. There was a price to pay. I would help my father in his work, and they would write off his sin.”

Brad wonders whether the price was too steep. “How old were you when you first started, if I may ask?”

Nate ponders, a crease appearing between his brows as he thinks. “Four. I might have been five, I don’t know.” This secret second life is all he's ever known.

 “Do you not think you have sacrificed enough? Lord Walsingham cannot keep you to your vow for the rest of your life? Where would be the justice in that?”

“Do you really think Lord Ferrando and Lord Walsingham give a jot about justice?” Nate says, dryly. “I am useful to them. As long as I remain so, they will keep my own secrets. The day I cease to be of use, that’s the only thing I fear.”

Brad doesn’t like the thought of Nate living in fear. Nate who lives with danger every single day at this court, weaving a path between Catherine and her malice, Anjou’s unwanted amorous attentions, Margot’s whims and Charles’s fits of insanity. Not to mention de Guise’s powerful unreasoning hatred.

“The truth of the matter is that I know too much to be allowed to live a quiet life now.”

“I will talk to Sir Francis. I will plead your case. He has to see reason.” Brad vows.

The tilt of Nate's mouth is sad, yet tender and cynical,"'Tis very kind and truly honourable of you, Brad, but I fear greatly you are wasting your time. I know Sir Francis and Godfather, and I know how they operate. There is no easy exit for me. If you believe in fairy-tales at this court, you will be crushed. It's not worth it."

"Was I not worth it?"

Nate leans forward and looks Brad right in the eye. In the shadows of the wood his face is so still, so sad that Brad longs to hold him close and comfort Nate, despite his disappointment with him. For a brief moment he closes his eyes, trying to control himself and Brad can see the pain on his face, how little choice he truly has to follow his own desires. "Every kiss, every caress was precious to me. Never, never think for a second that you were not worth it, Brad, you are."

* * *

Downtown Paris, early evening

The masked woman darts out of the shadows, looking round nervously before she knocks on the door of a house, on a unfrequented Paris backstreet. Even so, she is taking no chances. Whoever the lady is, she wishes to take no chances she is seen.

She darts into the house, and is ushered upstairs to a room on the top floor. A middle-aged slightly harried looking man in shirtsleeves is writing at a desk, illuminated by candlelight.

"Monsieur Evan, I am here. Shall we start?"

He ushers her to the most private room in his small cramped apartment, his bedroom. His precautions are necessary. The things she tells him are so inflammatory, so terrible in some cases that they must not be overheard, not until he is ready to release the information under her orders. Secrecy is most important, if anyone knew the content of their talks he would probably be locked up for a very long time.

"My Lady Margot-" he starts as she removes her mask and lies on his bed, her eyes closed for a moment before she starts to speak. She seems to need this moment, to centre herself before she talks.

"Monsieur Evan, what is it?"

Even he is paid generously for his work, purely to listen and write down her words verbatim, there is a part of him that is filled with pity and dread. Pity for the horrible situations that she relives in telling him the truth of what happened to her, a truth he personally has witnessed at court and has verified with accounts from others who have been induced to talk by gold or persuasion; dread, as the implication and consequences weigh heavy on them both. If anyone worked out what she was planning, he has no doubt they may both end up in jail for revealing royal secrets.

"My Lady," he starts again trying to spare her, "I cannot help but be troubled by the story you tell. How much it takes out of you to speak of these times. Must you do this to yourself?" The horrors she speaks of, that she recounts in a dispassionate clear voice must have an effect on her, he sees it in the pallor of her face, the faint circles under her eyes.

Her fair face is pale but determined. He sees the strength of will behind the porcelain mask already shattered into tiny pieces and glued together by sheer will, and the price she pays to keep this all inside her. So brittle he fears she is on the verge of snapping once more.

"Don't you see, Monsieur? I **must** talk, or I will choke."

That, he does understand, in an odd way. Though it must be painful, perhaps it serves as a purge, to get all those evils things from her past and dark feelings out into the open, where thy can do less harm.

"We must continue. I have not much time left. They still intend to marry me to Henri de Navarre in a couple of days and who knows what will happens then? We must finish it, or what was the point of starting at all?"

* * *

Meanwhile, that day

Brad and Madeleine go into the town centre. At the moment the day is pleasant, but with the promise of the humid weather that has plagued the city. He can feel his shirt and jerkin clinging to him already, slick with sweat. Though the sun shines, trouble is brewing, not far beneath the surface, the threat of a storm hanging in the still air like a sinister promise of barely banked down violence.

"I want you to meet Victor." she tells him as they ride in together into the student quarters.

"Is he going to want to meet me? Will he be jealous?" Brad asks.

She turns towards him. "Jealous? Why? You are a good friend to me, Brad. Victor has absolutely no need to be jealous-"

Brad isn't so sure but he trails along. He wants to see this Victor for himself. The man who won Madeleine's heart.

"This is the house-" she says at last, looking up at the stone building.

She knocks on the door. A rather slovenly looking lad opens the door, looking them up and down with barely concealed suspicion.

"Is Victor in?"she asks, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

The young man looks up and down again, taking in her fine brocade gown in spring time green sprigged with pink rosebuds round the bodice. Her glorious sweep of golden hair swept up into a cap with a jaunty yellow feather. She blushes under the scrutiny, but a shy little smile spreads across her face. “Please, Jacques, I just want to see him briefly-“

"I'll go and call him, my lady."

"Oh Victor! Got a visitor" his friend calls up the unlit staircase. It’s a typical student house. An absolute shit-tip. Brad doubts this place has seen the attention of a maid for many moons.

“Who is it?” comes a male voice from one of the rooms.

“Madeleine and some man from court by the looks of it.” Jacques shouts back. “Ain’t you going to come down?”

He pads down the stairs, still pulling up his hose. Out of the corner of his eye, Brad sees a scantily clad red-haired wench scuttle out of the room, still clutching her chemise to her front to shield her nakedness. Madeleine doesn’t even notice; she is so focused on seeing Victor at last.

Brad sees the lad as he approaches. He's young, must be only sixteen or seventeen as most, with the blond hair and blue eyes which must be typical of her family. He remembered that Maddy had told him Victor was a cousin. Her face lit up as he saw him, her face radiant with reflected love.

"Oh, Victor-“ she said, running into his arms. "I am so glad to see you! Have you missed me too?"

Victor eyes Brad warily. He can clearly see what the lad is thinking. _Who is this man and why is he with Madeleine?_ Idly, he wonders whether Madeleine has attempted to make this callow youth jealous by arriving with another man. It was easy to see she was far more keen on him than he was on her, desperate to please her sweetheart.

 _Poor girl,_ he thinks to himself. _Is he worthy of you?_

"I wasn't expecting you-" he says awkwardly scratching himself , pulling at his hose. 

“I had a spare day and Princess Margot was kind enough to help me get a day pass. I though I would come and see you. Are you well? They're not working you too hard, are they Victor?" she says with an affectionate fond smile at her beloved.

 _Some work would do that one good,_ thought Brad. He couldn't help comparing Victor with Walt, They were roughly the same age. Walt, despite his innocence had been forged in the crucible of battle, fighting at Breda. He was a man, not a pampered youth like this indolent student. For a moment he wanted to warn Madeleine not to do anything too hasty. _This Victor wasn't grown up enough yet to think about settling down. But why should she wait in vain at court until Victor finally matured, when the place was so dangerous and corrupt? If only Victor could see that he needed to man up and quickly._

“You’d best come into the parlour. You’ll have to excuse the mess.” Victor made an excuse as he opened the door and ushered them in.

“’Tis good to see you, dearest Victor.” She says brightly, giving him an expectant look as she leans forward, drinking him in.

“You haven’t been to see me in ages.” He says, a petulant frown marring his features. Brad thinks it makes him look like nothing more than a spoilt child.

“It’s very busy at the palace, what with the wedding... His Majesty and his mother want it to be the event of the season. And my mistress keeps us very busy, although she was kind enough to grant us a day pass so we could come to see you-”

“I'll be glad when this wedding is finally over! All those Huguenots in the Town centre, stroking their blades and threatening us, skulking underneath their dark cloaks-“

“-They’re not giving you trouble, are they, Victor?” She asked, wide-eyed with concern for her darling.

He puffs his chest out, eager to impress her. “Nothing I can’t handle, ma chere cousine, don’t worry about me-“

*

"What do you want with my Madeleine?" asked Victor as she busies her self, making his parlour a homey little retreat to have a decent meal. Madeleine has ordered dinner for them from a cookshop and Victor, being the student that he is, is taking full advantage of her generosity. 

Brad couldn't believe the arrogance of this lad. _Are you serious?_

"I have no idea what you mean. We became good friends and she asked me to accompany her today. I was glad to oblige as she has been looking forward to meeting you for weeks." 

He let the reproach go clear though unspoken. _And you couldn't even be bothered to make the place ready for her to receive you. I'm not convinced that you deserve a girl like Madeleine de Rochechouart._

She was sweet, like a sister. She did vaguely reminded him of his own sisters by adoption. He felt that same urge to protect her, shield her from the wickedness of the world she was immersed in. 

She is a good woman, and I would not have you take advantage of her good nature.

*

As they return to the palace, Brad and Madeleine find themselves opening up about court. Now that he has seen her undoubted affection for Victor, no matter what he thinks of the callow youth, her feeling for him are genuine. He wonders why she has not married him yet.

Madeleine looks at Brad sincerely. "This bothers you, doesn't it? That he is still so attached to Margot?"

He wonders whether he is a fool to trust this young girl with secrets that are so personal, but there is something about Madeleine that inspires his trust in a way he’s rarely ever felt about any soul apart from Ray. He can’t help marvelling at the sheer strength of will it must have taken to retain her purity of soul in this cesspit at court. "We were together and he went to her... I’m not shocking you, am I?"

Madeleine gives him a sad, rather ironic smile. “I have lived at this court since I was eleven years old, Brad. I don’t think anything you said could shock me now.”

He has to wonder about the kind of life she’s led at court and how she has against the odds managed to remain the person she is.

She looks at him with understanding in her eyes. "If you want him, you're going to fight her for him. Because I assure you, I know my mistress of old and she will not give him up without a struggle."

The knowledge that here is someone who is on his side is a comfort to him right now. She slips her arm through his, and he doesn’t shrink away from her unspoken support. "How can he allow her to manipulate him so? He's an intelligent man. Why can't he see what she's really like?"

“Nate has always seen the good in her, despite everything. It’s why she loves him so much and cannot bear to lose him. How could she bear to lose the only man to love her for herself?”

“If he’s so in love with her , then how can he want-“

“You? Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants.”

It sounds so simple and yet Brad can’t believe that there is such a plain elegant solution to the problem if only his own hurt and pride weren’t in the way.

“You arrived here, and changed his life and all he’s ever known. It would take a great deal to make someone change so drastically and desire something more after all this is all he knows, court and it’s intrigues. Once you are in the web, it’s so hard to walk away.”

“You think he does? You think Nate wants to change his life. Because of –“ he doesn’t dare to voice it, doesn’t dare to allow himself to hope that Nate feels an iota of what he’s starting to feel for him.

"Do you think he looks at any other man at court the way he looks at you? I tell you Lord Colbert the Duc d'Anjou would give his left hand for one glance that Nate bestows on you. Even I see it. But he is bound to her. He is hers," She says it so simply, as if it is an evident truth.

"I'm not prepared to share him. Not with her." He doesn’t know where that certainty comes from, just that he believes it right now.

"You shouldn't have to. You deserve someone who wants to be with you and you alone. I’m just not sure Nate can be that for you. Not unless he leaves court.”

At her words, Brad knows it’s hopeless. Lord Walsingham and Godfather will never let Nate go free, not when there’s spying to be done for Elizabeth.

 

“Brother do you want to talk? You seem burdened by your thoughts.”

Brad looks up. Rudy sits down next to him and hands him a cup of spiced ale. The fire burns low and outside the leaded windows they can hear the distant sound of carousing courtiers.

“I’m fine, Rudy. Stop fussing. There’s nothing wrong with me. So you can let the knitting circle know to back off please.”

Rudy is unperturbed by Brad’s rebuttal. “Well maybe you don’t want to talk, but perhaps you will take into account an old friend’s words and listen, heh?”

“I’m listening.”

Rudy sits back and looks at him with wise eyes, “Have you talked to him ? Have you sat him down and told him exactly why you have trouble trusting people? Does he know why you reacted so violently to his attachment to the princess?

It never ceases to amaze him how much Rudy sees and how little he judges him for it,“What is the point of talking? I should never have allowed him to get under my skin. Never allowed him to get close.”

“Why?”

“Because I gave him the ammunition to hurt. Because I took my eye off the prize for a moment. Well, I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. I’m not getting involved, not again.”

“This isn’t about Nate, or Margot. This is about Laetitia, isn’t it?”

Brad doesn't answer out loud, yet the tension in his mouth is eloquent enough and Rudy gleans the answer he wanted from it.

“She knew what you were and what you did. If she couldn’t handle the reality of that; that you are a brave man who works for the good of her country, then that is her problem, not yours. You should not blame yourself because of Letty.”

“I think you need to talk to him and find out exactly what is going on between him and the princess. Let him have the chance to be honest with you.”

“What if I don’t want to hear it?”

He lays a comforting hand in his shoulder, his dark eyes soft with compassion and sympathy, “Brad, my brother. Don’t add obstinacy to your burden. All problems can be solved with honesty.”

 

“Do you think it worked?” asks Pappy anxiously, after Brad had left the house.

Rudy frowns and blows out a sigh from between pursed lips. “I don’t know.” 

 

Brad looks down crossly at the sole of his boot. He could have sworn that hole wasn't in the sole yesterday, and with the advent of the wedding it's going to be impossible to get them repaired in time. It's going to have to be done as well, for we'll be standing round for hours at end. I know what these royal ceremonies are like. Personally, he would rather have used the time while the rest of the court were attending the wedding to carry on with their investigations but Sir Francis was having none of it.

"At this point it will be noticed if we are absent from the wedding. Catherine is suspicious enough of us and our motives. We toe the line and attend the wedding with good cheer, for we have been invited by the King of France himself."

"So what do you plan, sir?"

Walsingham laces his fingers together. "We are going to attend and stick to the de Guise like glue throughout the ceremony. This is their last chance to gain the upper hand and influence Margot to defy her family.”

“You think they would cause a scandal? Now? When Henri de Navarre has arrived all the way from his kingdom to marry her and unify the kingdom?”

“De Guise is already married to the Princesse de Porcian. And yet he still pursues her. Do you really think he gives a damn about scandal?”

Brad sighs. He knows when Sir Francis’s edicts are non negotiable and by the look on his face, this isn’t worth the battle. “Get your best suit pressed, Master Trombley. We’re all attending a royal wedding.”


	21. The Knifepoint Wedding

‘If I do say so, I have to admit I look perfect. The royal tailor has surpassed himself this time.’

Catherine suppresses a grin. Of course he did. She slipped him enough of a bonus that he would create something marvellous for her favourite child. Of course it helps that he had such superior material to work on in the first place. Nothing is too good for her darling Anjou.

He’s still staring in the mirror, entranced by the gleam of the hundreds of gems adorning his costume, each one chosen to highlight his dark beauty.

‘Do you like it? I spared no expense for you-‘

‘I love it, Maman, thank you!’

‘You look magnificent, like a true king. You will put everyone, including your poor brother quite to shame.’

Anjou’s monstrous vanity is still not satisfied.‘If only if were me. What a magnificent king I’d be!’

‘One day, my love. One day, all this shall be yours. The throne, the kingdom. With me by your side, there is nothing we-‘ she stops and corrects herself for now. ‘- I mean you can achieve.’

Lost in reveries of grandeur, Anjou barely notices her slip of the tongue. ‘But when?’

Catherine gives him a confident smile. ‘Be patient, my boy. Have you not noticed how ill your brother looks? Poor man, he does suffer from his health so-‘

Anjou sulks, his full pink lower lip jutting out sulkily. ‘He has been ill forever. Always he hangs on coughing and spluttering like an old man merely to spite me! Why the hell doesn’t he just die?’

She strokes the dark silk of his hair, winding it affectionately round her fingers and letting it spring back in glossy ringlets.‘When the time comes, I shall know what to do and you shall have your will.’

‘I hope it’s soon, Maman.’ He says tartly.

* * *

_The darkness is descending…_

Charles feels the tight knot of fear in his belly as the time for the wedding comes ever closer. He can’t do up the hooks of his doublet, stiff with silver and gold embroidery and studded by precious jewels. His jewelled cap and dagger with its richly worked hilt. An outfit fit for a king. 

As his attendants struggle to finish his toilette in time, it’s noticeable he is trembling violently with suppressed emotion. He’s knows he is acting oddly by the secret glances his servants keep giving him, afraid that he’ll give in to the darkness and lash out. 

_I must not give in, not now. Today is the day that Margot gives herself to her Huguenot cousin Henri. Today is the day peace wins._ Yet, despite his resolve he can feel the fear surround him like a subtle mist. He’s fighting to see his way out, but it’s malign influence has him firmly in his grip. He longs to lash out, to scream until his lungs burst, to take up his whip and let the blood flow.

_Not this, not now. No…. he knows that if he were to give in and indulge his worst impulses, let the madness descend, he would be left with crushing remorse and regret. The horrifying gap where he did not remember what he’d done. That loss of control. The fear he never even dares to name out loud, runs through his brain like a constant torment. What if one day the fear strikes and he harms his child?_

He balls his hands into fists, bites his lips, tries to stop the tears seeping down his face. _It’s too much, I can’t. If only I was not in the grip of this terrible fear..._ ‘Leave me.’ He gasps, as if he’s being stifled.

His attendants crowd round him, anxious faces circling him like vultures. ‘Your Majesty?’ 

He can’t bear it, he can’t breathe. ‘Go! Get out! GET OUT!!’ His eyes stare at them wildly, all bloodshot and furious.

They scuttle out, exchanging frightened looks.

 

‘Shall we call his mother?’ one quavers, once he’s reached the relative safety of the corridor.

‘No. In all honesty between ourselves, she’ll make it worse. Leave him for half an hour and call nurse Madelon to attend him.’

* * *

Margot’s in a foul mood on the day of the wedding and everyone is feeling the full effect. Even chirpy, fun loving Henriette is having trouble dealing with her caprices this morning.

‘I hate it. It’s too flat. I look like a nun! You’re going to have to do it again!’ she says, pulling at her hair. 

Henriette clenches her hands into fists to prevent herself from slapping her mistress for spoiling two hours painstaking work on her hair. She’s always impossible like this, finding fault with everything and changing her mind as soon as she’s spoken.

‘I want Nate. He’s the only one that will soothe me at a time like this. Where is he? Go and fetch him immediately.’

Henriette and Madeleine swop rather uncertain glances.

‘What?’ says Margot with impatience. Henriette would never dare tell her mistress how much she looks like her brother Anjou at that moment, not unless she wants to get clawed in the face. She recognises this dangerous volatile mood only too well.

‘Do you really think that’s a good idea, my lady?’

Margot looks at her maids, imperious as any Valois. She can see Madeleine quaking in the corner, desperate not to draw attention to herself.

‘If I give an order, Madame de Nevers, I do not expect you to question it. Bring me Nate. Right now.’

Henriette fidgets. ‘It’s just that it’s your wedding day. If I bring him here, then people will talk-‘

‘I don’t give a damn whether people talk! Let them if they have nothing better to do. Now get Nate, before I go to his chambers in my wedding finery and fuck him in front of the entire court!’ There’s a dangerous glint in her eye that tells them she is more than capable of doing just that.

When Nate arrives with a terrified Madeleine, Henriette has a large red hand print on her face and is scowling as much as she dares at her mistress. 

‘Leave us alone for at least an hour.’ Margot says in a terse voice that dares anyone to disobey her. ‘Go, and make sure no one disturbs us, on pain of my extreme displeasure-‘

The women scuttle out, not needing to be told twice.

‘Good luck! You’ll need it-‘ Henriette mouths to Nate as she leaves.

 

‘What’s going on, Margot. It’s the big day today. You need to get ready-‘

She kisses him fiercely in reply, stopping his questions with her mouth.‘I want your body. Right now-’ She breathes, her tongue running along his earlobe. ‘Nate, come on-‘

‘No, we can’t do this.’ He says firmly, putting her at arm’s length.

Her face is mutinous, her full lower lip pouting. ‘Why not?’

‘You’re getting married in three hours. I shouldn’t even be here.’

The volatile glint is back in her eyes. ‘Are you refusing me?’ she says.

‘Don’t be like this, Margot, please. You don’t mean this-‘ Nate is still attempting to reason with her, but she isn’t listening.

‘Maybe you didn’t understand me the first time, Nathaniel.'

_That must be the worst thing about their relationship,_ he seethes. _When she decides to pull rank on him. She doesn’t do it often, but it’s the one thing guaranteed to wind him up, and lead to a fiery argument._

‘Stop it!’ He says. ‘I won’t allow you to talk to me like that, Marguerite. I’m not your sex slave, to be used and discarded as you see fit.’ He shakes his head, out of all patience. He can’t deal with her caprices, not now. ‘I’m going, my lady. I have many things to do today. Perhaps I’ll see you later when you’re in a more reasonable mood.’ 

Her mouth is open in shock. She never expected Nate to talk back to her.‘You’re leaving me?’ she stammers.

‘Yes, Madame, if you will excuse me-‘

Margot blocks the doorway, so he can’t get past. ‘You would leave me today? When I need you most?’ her voice trembles.

‘I don’t want to fight with you today, Margot. I haven’t got the time or the energy. Let me go before we say something we will both regret.’

‘You break my heart, Nate-‘

If he wasn’t angry before, he definitely is now. He knows she has a tendency to be a little spoilt, manipulative as well but she’s excelled herself today. And in truth every time he thinks about that night when she forced her way into the room and found Brad in his bed, he feels a little guilty for deceiving her. He pulls away from her touch.‘I break your heart?’

She draws back from him, face stricken with remorse as she belatedly realises that she has pushed him too far. ‘Nate, I’m sorry-‘ she starts to say. “I was wrong-“

‘Don’t say you’re sorry because it’s not true. You don’t mean a word of it!’ he snaps back. He knows she’s realised just how out of order she’s been and he doesn’t need to press the point, not today when everybody is under so much pressure but he’s too angry to stop. All his resentment and guilt comes bursting out him like a flood.“You break my heart a thousand times, but do I say anything about it? When you go round taking stupid risks because you and Henriette think it’s a lark going out on the streets of Paris fucking complete strangers? I worry myself sick about you and your reputation. I don’t know why, when you don’t give a damn.” He closes his eyes in exasperation. He doesn’t know how longer he can do this, in all honesty.

“Why do we do this to one another? This unhealthily desperate passion. Sneaking round in corners-”

“I wanted to be with you honestly. But you and I know it cannot be, Nate. We’ve always known this from the beginning.”

“We’re tearing each other apart emotionally, don’t you see that?”

“Don’t say it, Nate.” She says desperately, clinging onto him. “Come back to me.”

‘Maybe it’s for the best that we are going to be parted-’ he says bitterly, the words falling between them with a solid finality.

Margot looks devastated. Her eyes flood with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble.‘How can you say that, Nate? Do you hate me now? Is this because you love him?’

He's almost relieved it's out in the open, that she brought it up, ‘I don’t hate you Margot-‘ he says wearily, taking her back into his arms. “How could I ever hate you?”

‘I really am sorry, Nate. Honestly I am. I was upset and I took it out on you and Henriette.’ She looks up at him and he is reminded so strongly as her as a wilful yet irresistible child, it gives him a terrible pang. If only things were as simple as they were then. Back when they were innocent. ‘I’ve behaved very badly, haven’t I?’

‘I thought if I was angry at you, then it wouldn’t hurt when I have to leave you.” His admission is wrung from him. “It’s not true. Marguerite, we must accept our fates or drive ourselves mad. Be brave, for me. Marry Henri, have his heirs and forget your troubadour.”

She’s sobbing in his arms, icy defences broken down. “How can you ask me to forget you?”

‘Shush, my love don’t cry. I’m sorry I shouted at you.’ he soothes her.

There’s tears streaming down her face as she relaxes into his arms.‘I can’t do this. I can’t, Nate. Help me-‘ she says in a small broken voice.

As he kisses her, over and over again, he can taste the salt of her tears.

‘Come on, let’s sort this hair out, shall we? You can’t go out looking half done, can you?’

She sits down on the bed allowing him to undo her hair and start again. She relaxes into him, as he brushes her hair, making the inky black stream of it as smooth as glass. 

‘I know that you are strong, Margot. You will find the strength from deep down to do what you have to. I promise.’

She turns to him with reproachful eyes, “How can you be so calm? When my heart is breaking?”

‘This is hard on all of us.’ He says quietly, concealing his own emotions with an effort.

“Hold me.” She breathes, turning towards him. “Kiss me, just once, Nate. I need you-”

He knows by the look in her eyes this isn’t going to be just one kiss. “Daisy, this isn’t wise.”

She pulls him on top of her as she lies on the bed, sliding her rich embroidered skirt up her legs.

“It’s your wedding, we can’t do this, Margot.”

She looks up at him, her eyes dreamy and dark, her arms winding round him holding him close.“I want my wedding night, but with you. Don’t you understand? I told you once it’s always been you and it’s true. I cannot do this without you, my heart’s desire.”

“Margot, you know you mustn’t. It’s your wedding day. You know that things are different now-“ He pulls away from her. aware of just how close he was to giving in to her temptation.

She puts a finger on his lips, stopping his protests.“You wouldn’t deny me, would you? When I know you desire me-“

 

He lies besides her, chastely side by side, and can’t help feeling that by giving in to her, allowing her kisses, he’s somehow betrayed Brad. Even though they had made no promises to each other and he'd let Brad down, sleeping with his mistress just doesn’t seem right any more.

_It’s bad enough that Brad no longer trusts me. If he ever found out about this, he might never forgive me. And right now I would deserve it too._

“It would break my heart if you didn’t love me any more.” She says as he lies silently next to her. 

Nate is so appalled with himself and the tangled snarl he's in, that he doesn’t know what to say.

*

‘You have something to say to Henriette and Madeleine, don’t you Margot?’ He prompts her, as the girls come back in.

She faces them, eyes cast down. ‘I behaved very badly towards both of you today. I’m sorry, truly I am.’

‘How on earth did you manage to calm her?’ Henriette’s eyes gleam appraising the both of them, a worldly gleam in her dark eyes.

Nate damns his fair skin yet again as he feels the flush creep into his face. ‘No, I didn’t -‘ he says crossly. ‘We just talked. We’re not going to discuss this further.’

Henriette looks at him as if she patently doesn’t believe him. To be honest, he can't actually blame her.

 

* * *

The marriage ceremony is held outside the church, as by the demands of his faith Henri cannot enter the cathedral of Notre-Dame. It makes a wonderfully ornate backdrop to the royal spectacle to follow. Catherine approves heartily, as a show like this display and reinforces the dominance of the Valois to the public. Good public relations at a time when she knows the city talk ill of her and her sons. Anything de Guise and his pandering to the rabble can do, I can do better.

‘Do you, Henri de Navarre take this woman, Princess Marguerite de Valois, to be your lawful wedded wife?’

He nods his head and speaks clearly, so the assembled crowd and hear him. ‘I do.’

The Cardinal turns to Margot to ask her the same question. She is so angry she refuses even to acknowledge him. Head held fiercely up, she’s never looked more grand, more like a princess than at this moment.

‘Do you, Marguerite de Valois, take this man Henri de Navarre to be your lawful wedded husband?’

There is a terrible silence as she looks straight ahead, not answering. There’s not a sound from the crowd as the silence looms, almost as if the whole of Paris isn’t breathing.

Cardinal de Bourbon repeats the question. She looks at him then; her eyes almost seeming to reproach the priest. Her lips are pressed tightly together.

Charles gets up from his seat and puts one hand roughly at the back of her head.‘Bend your head, Margot.’

She shakes her head.

‘What in hell does she think she is doing?’ Walt says to Sir Francis from their viewpoint in the crowd.

‘She cannot do this. In front of everyone. It’s insanity. He’ll kill her right here, in front of the crowd.’ Brad whispers back. He can see the king and the tell tale signs he is on the edge of reason. The blood-shot eyes, the tremble of his hands, the sign of barely controlled emotion. It will not take much to push him over the edge and Margot’s theatrical, insanely brave defiance might just be the trigger.

Trombley seems delighted at the prospect of bloodshed. He whistles a jaunty tune to himself underneath his breath. ‘That is one crazy bitch right there.’ He sounds flat out admiring.

‘Bend your head, or I will slit that graceful neck of yours-‘ His blade lies against her long pale throat. No one dares to move, careful not to set the king off.

Catherine sits back and watches the ensuing drama between her children. Sir Francis is convinced she is almost smiling, though he is not close enough to her to see for certain. He curses the fact that they are not close enough to the action.

‘Try to get closer, lads. We can’t hear anything from here-‘ Sir Francis says discreetly.

Margot sits up straighter. Her eyes look up momentarily, like she is looking for strength from a higher source.

‘She’s daring him to do it. She’s forcing his hand in public.’

‘Dear God, what a girl. What a family!’ Sir Francis sighs.

Charles holds the blade against her throat. She stares at him, defiant as ever.

“You haven’t got the strength, have you?” she says quietly, for his ears alone.

Charles drops the dagger with an agonised cry and forces her head violently forward. The crowd breathes an audible sigh of relief. As Margot walks past the crowd, hand clasped by Henri the group see her eyes. All the light, that mischievous sparkle that makes her gorgeous, exasperating, charming Margot has gone. 

Walt’s reminded of that porcelain figure that came to mind when he first met her. ‘Who cares if a porcelain figurine has feelings?’ he says so softly only Ray can hear him. A chill runs down each of their spines.

‘That’s good enough. The maid is shy and overcome by the occasion. She cannot speak. She has given her consent.’ Charles says to the populace. ‘Well done, my sister! A true Daughter of France!’

Brad doesn’t even want to see how the scene has affected Nate but despite himself he catches Nate’s eye. As her train brushes past, he makes an involuntary move towards her, but Sir Francis has him in an iron grip.

‘Do not do anything to bring attention to yourself.’ He says firmly. ‘I warn you, Nathaniel. Be wise-‘

Nate tries to speak but he can’t. Sir Francis takes one look at his face, and decides to takes drastic action.

‘Brad, I’ll meet you all back at the palace. I have to deal with this now. He’s in a bad way.’

‘I can’t help but be disgusted by all this.’

Sir Francis agrees rather somberly. ‘Yes, I have to agree with you, Brad. It stinks to high heaven.’

 

As the crowd filter away from the cathedral, the people are still discussing the scene.

‘Disgusting. You could tell they forced her into it.’

‘Heartbreaking, it was to see the poor girl’s face as she walked past. What harm would it have done to let the lass marry who she wanted?’

‘The maid was brave enough to refuse even at the church door. I tell you something, girl’s got more balls than those three brothers put together. To refuse still, with his dagger at her throat!’

‘Please! That little wanton would do anything for attention!’ mocks one woman.

‘What can you expect from these Italians? Disgraceful behaviour!’

‘And to think the world is watching! The English are here. What must they think of us?’ his friend tuts with a foreboding shake of his head.

*

Sir Francis leads Nate to the nearest tavern and order four pitchers of the strongest wine the landlord has on tap.

‘I can’t be here. I’m meant to be conducting and playing the harpsichord at the reception. ‘ Nate says helplessly.

Sir Francis isn’t taking ‘No’ for an answer. ‘Sit down, Nathaniel. Talk to me.’

Overpowered by the sheer force of his personality, Nate sits down heavily. ‘I don’t know where to start-’

As cynical and wordly as Lord Walsingham is, the lost look on Nate’s face strikes him with a pang. I suppose I never realised how responsible Ferrando and I were for plunging this lad into this dangerous world with little guidance.

‘I’m worried about you, Nate. I have no doubt about your skills. Your ability in the field has been proven again and again. You have served me well. Better than I ever expected or dreamed. It seems that you have a gift for espionage and analysis that far excels your father’s.”

“I don’t want to lose you.’

Nate’s eyes plead with his boss as he realises what Sir Francis wants from him. ‘Please Sir, I can’t-‘

‘You knew this day would come. The day you would have to betray your mistress’s confidence.’ Though Sir Francis’s voice has sympathy for Nate in it, he still presses him for the truth.

“You want to know everything?”

‘The first time our relationship went beyond that that in the forests at Fontainebleau, after I had returned from Italy. She kissed me up against a tree and put her hand down my breeches. I was young-‘ he says helplessly.

“I know.” 

‘I was sixteen years old, as horny as any youth, and I had loved and adored her for a long time. I realised that things had changed since I had left for Italy. The stakes were higher. I had a choice. I could refuse and forfeit her friendship, or I could succumb to temptation. I said to Lord Colbert that I’m not made of stone, and it’s true. I’m not.’ 

‘I’m not judging you, Nate. You did this under orders, I know. For if I hadn't wanted you to use all the means at your disposal to gain her favour, I would have put a stop to it long ago.’

‘You should be, Sir. I’ve made a mess of this-‘ Nate sighed before he continued, ‘She came to my room, a couple of days later. Locked the door behind her. She wanted me to help her. I was the only person she could trust-’

“What did the Lady want?” he says trying to be discreet in the tavern. It doesn’t matter, in the hurly-burly of the crowds coming in from the wedding service. No one takes much notice of two men sat in a corner, conversing in a foreign tongue.

‘She wanted me to make love to her.”

“Is this when it all started? After Italy?”

‘We started to have a secret affair. I knew it was dangerous, it was playing with fire but it was like an addiction. I just couldn’t give her up. And now, there’s someone else. Someone I-“

“You want to be free. So you can be with with this person.”

Nate nods. “Yes.”

“Do you know what I think?”

Nate looks at his boss, willing him not to say it aloud and make it real.

“I think it’s Lord Colbert.” 

“How? How did you-“

Walsingham almost cracks a cynical smile, “Nate, I would be a very poor head of Intelligence if I couldn’t work out something that’s right in front of me.”

‘She cried out for help. I thought she was throwing a tantrum but she was desperately crying for help. And I could do nothing! I was powerless. I can’t be in love with two people. This is crazy. ’

"So you do have feelings for her still?" Sir Francis muses, considering the situation.

“Of course I love her. She’s been the focus of my entire life since I was a child, and after what happened...You understand, Sir Francis don’t you? We are bound together by the past. I can’t abandon her after all we’ve both been through."

Sir Francis looks at him with sympathy. “I think you are too hard on yourself. What could you have done, Nate?’

“I don’t know-”

“You have to break the bonds, for your own sake. For her sake. You’re both too involved now.”

“I know I do, but I don’t know how.”

* * *

The royal couple face each other after being put to bed. 

‘Well, this is slightly awkward, isn’t it?’ remarks Margot, sitting cross-legged on the embroidered counterpane. She’s unbraiding her long skeins of dark hair, shaking out the glossy abundance to fall about her pale shoulders like an inky stream.

“Margot-”

Her face is implacable. ‘I don’t have to sleep with you, and what’s more, I won’t.’

“Why not?” Henri asks.

She looks him up and down with a look of regal scorn. “Do you seriously ask me why, after that scene in front of Notre Dame?”

Henri is slightly outraged by the injustice of it all. “You cannot blame me for that, Margot. It was your brother who treated you so ill.”

She doesn’t answer, having no suitable retort to hand. 

“I told you the marriage would take place-“ he says suddenly.

Margot is not in the mood, frankly.‘What are you talking about now?’ she snaps crossly.

He breaks into a smile, which makes his face more attractive in the firelight. “D’ye remember we rode to Bayonne that day and you flew into a passion and pulled my hair? Little spitfire! Swore blind you’d rather die than marry me.”

“And your point is?” she says in her haughtiest tone.

He shrugs. ‘Funny how things turn out, that’s all.’

“It wasn’t through choice, I assure you.” She grits out.

“Ah Margot, get over yourself! Don’t you ever get bored of playing the tragic heroine? Every day a new melodrama with you in the star role?”

She sighs dramatically. “If only I were dead! Then everyone would be sorry for treating me so badly.”

“You want to be dead? Before the festivities are over?” he gives her a naughty grin.“Margot, that cannot be true?”

She can’t help grinning back. She might as well admit it: he’s witty. And perhaps he’s a little more attractive than she first thought he was. _But he’s not de Guise, intense and passionate with that spice of the forbidden she could not resist at first,_ a little voice says within her. _He’s not my Nate._ She remembers her words to him as she lay underneath him in her wedding gown. My heart’s desire...

“There, that’s better. You are a lovely girl when you smile.”

She reproves him, although the sting has gone. “You were chasing Madame de Sauve like a dog on heat tonight. Hardly flattering to your new bride.”

He is quite unrepentant. ‘She wants me. You do not.’

“If you’re going to chase whores, don’t do it on our wedding night, Henri. Show a little class.”

He answers her straight back, absolutely uncowed by her airs and graces. ‘You were making eyes at men all night. Couldn’t take your eyes off that gorgeous musician. And you danced all night with Lord Hasser and the Duc de Guise. Flirting with your lovers in front of me? Anyone would think you were trying to rouse the green eyed monster in me-‘

She laughs in his face. ‘You’re not going to play the jealous husband role, are you? I only looked, Henri. There’s no crime in that. You had your hand on her arse. And you danced the Volta with her.’

Henri can’t help being amused that for someone who professed not to care about him and what he did, she seems to have kept quite a close eye on him.“You’re not going to play the jealous wife, are you?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. “You danced the Volta with Sir Walt. The entire court talks of how you slept with him. You have no call to rebuke me for it, whatever I have done.”

She pouts. “You are the most provoking man!”

“I try.” He says, sweet as honey.

“You do know they are going to check up on us. For appearance’s sake we must lie in bed. One night. That’s all. Am I so repulsive that you can’t do it?”

They lie in bed, barely touching. Margot thinks of the last time she slept with a man. How tender Nate was. How he kissed the scar on her thigh and told her he loved every part of her, and how she shouldn’t be ashamed of their past. How she leant on his shoulder and told him she trusted him utterly. She wonders what rude, rough Henri would be like as a lover. _I’m married to him now. Would it be so bad if I slept with him? Just once?_

“One kiss. Just for appearance’s sake, dear cousin.” His voice is thick and heavy with desire. “You can spare one kiss, fair Marguerite, can’t you?”

‘Very well-‘ she sulks with a playful glint in her eye.

Henri kisses her so thoroughly she quite forgets her principles. Before she knows it, she’s slipping her tongue into his mouth, arching her eager body up to meet him.

They break apart eventually and she stares at him, breathing heavily. ‘I thought you said just one kiss?’ she gasps.

He looks down and smiles at her in the candlelight, stroking the dark silk of her hair away from her face.

‘Do you want me to stop?’

She grabs him and pulls him close. ‘Shut up and kiss me again.’

*

Catherine and Maddalena listen at the door, swapping slow knowing smiles.

‘I knew my little wanton wouldn’t let me down. Oh dearest Margot, never change.’

They can hear the sounds of the two of them through the wall: the steady thuds of the headboard against the wall, the occasional grunts from Henri and Margot moaning up a storm; ‘Fuck me, you bastard. Give it to me. Don’t you dare stop!’

‘Our work here is done, I think, mistress.’ says Maddalena serenely.

*

‘Did you pretend that was someone else? De Guise?’

She looks at him, enigmatic and defiant. ‘You’ll never know, Henri. Because this is the last time it’ll ever happen.’

Henri says nothing to that. He has a couple of scratches on his back and a lovebite that say different.

‘Of course, my lady.’ He merely says as they go to sleep.

* * *

From a darkened window a man waits in the darkness. Musket in hand his eyes are trained on the house opposite, waiting for his mark to leave. He remembers the words of his mistress, not to let this one go by any means. The heavy bag of gold weighs him down with the promise of more, a fortune’s worth if he succeeds.

_Enough to make my fortune and get the hell out of here. Just this one last job for me. He tells himself. I don’t want to work for her any more. She’s far too demanding. Not content with my services, she wants his soul as well and that is a price I am not prepared to pay, not by any means._

He stops his train of thought. Reflection is a luxury the assassin cannot afford and besides, the front door of the house opposite has just opened. The target is within sight. He’s even paused in the doorway.

He raises the musket and fires.

_Damn, I hope I hit my target._ The mark had bent to pick a piece of paper from the floor. By the terrible cry that he can hear even from his hiding place and the sudden slump against the wall, he assumes it was a success. It has to be. Failure is not an option, she said that very clearly and he doesn’t dare displease her. She has far too much power and malevolence to allow him to live a peaceful life if he failed her now.

_Time to leave,_ he tells himself. He slips away from the window and exits from a side door, disappearing into the balmy Paris night time.


	22. Coligny the Martyr

Sir Francis leaves his men still sat round the main hearth of the tavern drinking and planning their latest move. 

"I'll retire for bed and we'll reconvene in the morning, lads. Keep up the good work."

 

He pads silently to his room out of habit. The pistol primed and hidden under the folds of his voluminous nightgown. He stops on the landing, five or so yards from his room. There's a crack of light coming from his room. 

_Someone is in there. That door is open._

Primed for combat he kicks opens the door and burst through the door, gun in hand.

There's a shriek from the bed as he sees the shape of a female clutching his bedspread round her. His mouth quirks onto a cynical smirk as he registers who his fair intruder might be."Mademoiselle de Chateauneuf, I believe?" he enquires mildly, the leveled weapon in sharp contrast to his genial tone.

"Put the gun down!" her voice goes up into a squeak of fear and outrage.

He doesn't even give her a response, merely levelling the weapon at her.“Who sent you here? Now is not the time to keep silent.”

“A member of the famous Esquadron. Well, this is a coup.”

She tries to scuttle away, but Sir Francis blocks the doorway forcing her back to the bed. "I don’t think so Mademoiselle. You’re going to tell me what I wish to know, aren’t you?” His voice is low and ruthless as he interrogates her.This is a major coup, a member of the esquadron at his mercy. He had to give her a certain amount of credit. Even with his pistol pointed at her, she keeps her composure. These girls - Catherine's attack dogs, they have iron in their souls.

“This is most infamous behaviour! Do you often go round threatening ladies?” She blusters, trying to charm her way out of the situation.

“What are you doing here? I would like the truth please.” Sir Francis presses the gun against her fair head, "I would like for this to remain pleasant and civilised but my patience is not infinite, -"

"I don't know what you want to know. What can I tell you, my lord?"

His smile widens ruthlessly, "Start from the beginning, my lady. Leave nothing out."

* * *

The Palace

The messenger bursts into the tennis court where Charles and Téligny are playing a match, chest still heaving with the effort of running all the way there. 

‘Sire, Monsieur de Coligny has been shot!’

Charles drops the racket. Brad would swear that the king goes white as the blood drains from his face. ‘Shot?’

‘He was attacked in the Rue de Béthisy, on the way back from the palace. He’s lost a lot of blood, your Grace.’

‘No! Not Coligny!’ he cries. He’s shaking, his knees too weak to support him.

De Guise stands there absolutely still. Brad would swear there is a slight smirk on that blandly handsome face, although he would be hard pressed to prove it.

‘Your Majesty-‘. It is obvious that Téligny is just as stricken as the king, but he is managing to hold up under the shock. ‘May I go to my dear father? Sire, give me leave to attend him in his hour of need.’

‘Of course. Go!’

Téligny flees to his father’s house.

Charles stares out in front of him, trembling violently. He mutters to himself a litany of sorrow and fear; ‘No one is safe. No one. I am not safe. Who will be next?’

‘Your Grace-‘ 

‘A moment of peace. That’s all I ask?’ he bursts out, tears pouring from his eyes. ‘What have they done to my friend?’

De Guise is close at hand, offering comfort and solicitous advice. Brad’s skin crawls to hear him. ‘Send a doctor, Sire. By some miracle, you may yet be able to save him.’

‘Yes, an excellent idea, de Guise. I will send Paré, my own personal physician. I will go to him myself, yes. Poor Coligny, the worthiest of men. Who would harm him?’

*

Up at the palace, Catherine is also being informed of Coligny’s assassination. Her reaction is quite different, though she is careful to conceal her true feelings.

‘Your Majesty, Monsieur de Coligny has been shot!’ 

‘No! It cannot be true!’ she says out loud, clutching at her heart as if she cannot bear the shock.

 _Damn it, I knew that stupid man would bungle it! Never get a servant to do an important job like this. They have no idea what’s at stake._

‘Tell me what happened, sir.’

‘Monsieur de Coligny was attacked in the Rue de Béthisy on the way back from the Palace. It is by the grace of God that he bent to pick a piece of paper from the floor and the ball missed, otherwise he would surely be dead. He is very badly injured, and the doctor thinks he’ll probably lose his arm, if not worse, Ma’am.’

‘Does anyone know where the bullet came from? Who would have wanted to harm the great Coligny?’ she asks, squeezing out a few false tears.

‘It is believed that the shot came from the house of the Chanoine de Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois.’

‘De Guise’s tutor-‘ she breathes, laying the false trail with care.

‘It is well known to all that the de Guise family hold a terrible grudge against Coligny and the Châtillon family, ever since he had their father, Le Grand Balafré killed. Do you think it may be revenge, your Majesty?’

‘Who knows? These feuds… They will tear this country apart if we are not careful.’ She says. ‘Have they caught the assassin yet?’

‘No Ma’am. But they did find the murder weapon.’

‘Really?’

‘What do you know? Has an owner been found?’

‘Funnily enough, yes. It seems that the murder weapon belongs to Monsieur de Guise.’

‘Monsieur de Guise?’ she says, scarcely able to hide her triumphant smile. _How she loves it when a plan comes together at last!_

‘How terrible! When the king finds out, he will be very angry. Perhaps someone should warn de Guise to make himself scarce for a while. Just until things blow over.’

 

When Catherine meets her son, he is in a terrible state. By contrast, she is composed and knows exactly what to say and do.

‘Mother, they tried to kill Coligny, my great friend.’

She’s there, with a lie ready on her lips. ‘They tried and failed? Thank God!’ 

Charles is still agitated by his friend’s plight. His eyes are wild, and she can see by the twitching of his mouth and the flecks of foam gathered in the corners, that he is on the edge. It will not take much to push him off into the mental abyss.‘We have to save him, Mother! Where is Paré? I need him here. He must save dear Gaspard. I must go to him-‘

She tries to prevent him from going to his friend. ‘No, my son, you do not how ill he is.’

‘But Maman, he is my most loyal servant –‘

‘You know how the sight of blood affects you so. Please Charles, listen to reason-‘

He is determined, despite her pleas. ‘He is my dearest friend. I owe it to him, however unpleasant it may be.’

‘Very well, since you are insistent, we had better make our way there at once. Don’t blame me if it affects you.’

 

When Catherine and Charles arrive at Coligny’s sick bed, they find Henri de Navarre and Henri de Condé already in attendance, Téligny hovering anxiously in the corner. 

_I might have known I’d find this lot all together. Protestants all sticking together. I’m surprised Sir Francis isn’t here as well. And what plots have they hatched behind our backs, eh? What slanders have they freely indulged in?_

‘How is he? Oh Gaspard, how awful this is!’ Charles says, his face pale with anxiety.

‘He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s been very brave.’ Henri says seriously.

‘He’ll have to be even braver soon.’ Ambrose Paré remarks with a dark streak of gallows humour, ‘We’ll have to have that finger off, before gangrene has a chance to spread. It isn’t going to be pleasant, sire. I have nothing strong enough to alleviate his pain.’ 

‘See, I told you we shouldn’t have come, Charles.’ Catherine nags.

Charles is staring at the blood on Coligny’s jacket. He’s obsessed with the wound, staring at where the bullet hit him in the shoulder, tracing it with his fingers, getting the blood on his hands.

“You there!” the doctor says, indicating Henri de Navarre. “I need to remove the ball from his shoulder. Help me hold him down. He will struggle and it will be agony, but it can’t be helped.’

‘Of course, whatever you require.’ Henri says. 

The doctor gets his instruments out. ‘ I’m afraid this is going to hurt a lot, Monsieur de Coligny. The ball is wedged in between the muscles in the shoulder. It’s going to be a job getting it out. Are you ready?’

‘Do it-‘ gasps Coligny, sweat breaking out on his forehead. 

 

Henri takes Catherine aside. “I think it would be best if his Majesty left while Paré operates. I do not wish for him to be distressed.”

Catherine gives a malevolent little smile and refuses to move. Henri realises she has no intention of letting the king go anywhere. Why does she take such delight in torturing him? _What kind of a mother is she?_

Charles stares in horror as the surgeon gets his instruments out, including a terrifying pair of what looks like a huge pair of crude scissors.

“What are those?” the king asks in a trembling voice. He eyes them warily.

Paré knows his master is appallingly squeamish. The sight and smell of blood has a very detrimental effect on him; it’s one of his triggers. If he had his own way he would have asked Charles to leave the room, as the last thing he needs is for the king to have an attack right here. Catherine seems determined that they should both see the amputation and he can hardly gainsay her.

“I have to amputate the finger, Sire.” Paré says trying to get it over as briskly as he can. “If we don’t take action now, the infection will spread and Monsieur de Coligny will die.”

“Amputate?” Charles goes so pale that Paré is concerned he may have to treat Charles soon.

“Get him out of the room. Let his Majesty have some fresh air. I can’t do this if his Majesty is in a state.” Paré snaps, taking pity on Charles who has gone grey with horror.  
He makes a retching sound as the tool crunches through the bone and mangled rotting flesh. Coligny howls with pain despite the poppy juice he’s been dosed with.

“Come, cousin. You must not see this.” Henri says soothingly as he guides him to the door.

Catherine is displeased that Henri has butted in on Charles’s behalf, but there’s nothing she can say. Her mouth sets into a cruel disappointed line.

*

_Gaspard de Coligny is woozy and light headed from loss of blood and the pain. Floating in between consciousness and sweet drugged oblivion, he sees a terrifying vision; his King, his dear master maddened beyond endurance. He’s soaked in blood from head to toe but it’s the look in his eyes that has him truly terrified._

_Any semblance of the gentle, biddable, kind young man he knows and loves like his own son has completely gone. This king stood before him, drenched in gore is a bloodthirsty amoral man, a tyrant in word and deed._

_Behind him, his mother, that immoral dreadful woman stands caressing him, more loving than she has ever been in real life to the poor boy, a look of unholy triumph on her face._

_‘He is mine, Gaspard! Mine at last!’ she mocks. ‘My masterpiece!’ she kisses him deeply, and licks the blood from her lips._

_He cannot accept this, even though he knows it is futile._

_‘Charles is a good boy. He just needs guidance and love, which he got scant amounts of from you! I will not let you have his soul, you Jezebel!’ he cries, his voice carried away by the wind._

_She laughs at him, a horrible sound. ‘There’s nothing you can do. You will not even last the week, old fool, not if I have anything to do with it. You should never have tried to cross me, should you?’_

__

He cries out in pain, with a violent start.

‘Monsieur de Coligny, be careful. You are badly hurt!’ cries Henri de Navarre.

‘I have to warn the king-‘ he says, sitting up in the bed, all wide eyed.

‘Gaspard, try and rest. You are still gravely injured.’ 

He still tries to persist. This is vitally important. ‘Even if I die, I must do this. He has to know the truth. The king must know.’

*

Outside the sick room, Catherine is deep into her role as caring matriarch. ‘Thank God, he is saved!’ she crosses herself fervently.

‘He is not out of the woods yet, by any means.’ Condé says darkly. 

Henri frets, his dark heavy brow furrowed into ridges. ‘Who would attack a noble honourable man like Coligny? It doesn’t make any sense. Not now.’

‘I can think of someone very close to hand with motive and means. I’m sure you all can too-’ D’ Aubigne smirks.

‘Who? Please, if we can get justice for Coligny.’ Henri urges.

‘Think about it. The shot came from the Chanoine de Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois’s house. He was a tutor for the Guise family. We know that they have a deadly grudge against Coligny. I imagine that when they search the house they will find that de Guise is neck deep in the entire thing-‘ de Condé broods.

‘We need proof, Henri! We can’t go accusing him without proof!’ 

“Look how he has slinked away through the city gates before he could be apprehended. A sure sign of guilt!”

Catherine is ready to play upon the king’s fears, always close to the surface. Of all the council she knows exactly where de Guise currently is and the level of his involvement on the assassination. ‘I am so terrified! They will attack us in our beds. Me, an old defenceless woman, an outsider! No one is safe.’

‘Perhaps I should make my way back to Navarre with Margot. My presence here in your kingdom is just making sectarian tensions even worse.’

Catherine will hear of no such thing. Any attempt of Henri’s to leave would ruin her carefully laid plans.‘Absolutely not.’

‘But-‘

His every instinct is to saddle and ride for Navarre as fast as his horses will carry him, but he cannot disobey the king and his mother Catherine de’ Medici. Not when they offer him their princess and an alliance that Navarre desperately needs, right on the doorstep of the might of Catholic Spain.

‘At this time of crisis I need my family around me. Would you deprive me of my dear daughter at a time like this?’ 

Henri has never seen the slightest evidence of any tender feeling towards Margot on Catherine’s part but now is possibly not the time to bring it up.

‘Stay at court, just for a while. Just until things settle.’ Catherine coaxes. ‘My son, would you desert me in my time of need?’

* * *

The king insists on visiting Coligny as he attempts to recuperate after his surgeries, making his way through the city to his house. Catherine insists equally as fervently on accompanying him, terrified they might meet alone and Gaspard would reveal her duplicity and evil to the King. It is of vital importance to her that she retains her hold on her poor son.

The people stand in doorways staring at the royal party with sullen, barely concealed hostility. She can hear their whispers as she passes: ‘Italian Woman’; ‘Jezebel’; ‘Murderer’; ‘Bitch’ and most hurtful of all, directed at her darling boy Alexandre; ‘Pervert’. She does not care about the rabble and their sullen defiance, for none would dare to say it to her face.

The Protestants surround Coligny in a deep cordon, and they will not hold back, practically spitting their hatred at the royal party.

‘Is this what you call peace?’ calls one man, jostling the Prince as he passes.

‘You won’t get away with this, you crooks! Our brothers will march north and avenge us, depend upon it!’

‘Never trust a Valois!’

The crowd surround the royal party, heckling and hollering. They seem to loom ever closer in their dark, forbidding clothing. Anjou turns to react but Catherine pulls him back, urging caution. “Not now, mon yeux-“ she hisses.

“There will be an inquiry, I promise you-“ calls Charles. He’s visibly trembling with fear. “I want justice for Gaspard as you all do.” 

Catherine despises him for caving in to their demands so easily. What kind of a king is he? François would never have behaved so cravenly. His father Henri II would have had these arrogant heretics thrown in prison for even thinking such thoughts. But Charles wants to be their friend, to be viewed as just! Almost begging for approval from the mob. Such a bad idea! They can smell the desperation coming off him like stale civet.

*

Charles goes straight to Coligny, and kneels down taking his hands in his.

‘Sire, you are kind to come.’ Coligny says weakly.

‘Of course I would come. I love you as my father, dear Gaspard.’

Catherine stands there like a vulture, delighting in his imminent death. The depths of her wickedness never cease to astonish him, time after time.

‘I have only ever tried to serve your Majesty all my life as I did his father, God rest his soul. Others-‘ he looks at Catherine. ‘-may call me a disturber of the peace and denigrate me and my work behind my back, but I assure you, I am and always will be your true and humble servant.’ 

‘Oh dearest father, do not speak thus. Do not leave me!’ 

He pats the distraught king on the head trying even now to impart some comfort. ‘If I had a choice, my dear Charles I would not leave you now. Not when we have so much to do. But I am sorely wounded.’

‘I feel your pain. Your wounds. How can you bear your pain?’ sobs Charles.

‘Please your Majesty, be calm. If only I could speak to you alone, I have much to say before I run out of time.’ His eyes plead with Catherine, begging her to take pity and leave the room for a few moments. He has to set his mind at ease before he dies. The vision of the King and his mother has been haunting him ever since he was trapped in its coils. 

Catherine knows exactly what he is up to, and has no intention of moving. She settles down into her seat by the fire and smirks at him triumphantly.

‘Mother, would you give us a moment?’ Charles asks. 

She pretends not to know what he’s talking about. ‘My son?’

‘I want to talk to Gaspard alone, before it is too late.’

‘Surely there is no need for that. He is still alive. He will recover.’

‘Mother, I’m sure you can wait outside for a moment while I talk to a dying man. Leave us, please.’

She notices the air of command and she decides that there’s no point in arguing with him right now. She will have to listen in on what is said, by the keyhole if necessary, and try to counter the effect of any advice Coligny tries to give him on his deathbed.

She stomps off angrily, slamming the door behind her.

*

‘She’s gone at last now, Gaspard. What was it you wanted to tell me?’

‘Sire, I love you not only as a king but as my son. I remember when this heavy burden was laid upon you, how you took to the yoke and never once complained despite the dangers and troubles that have been your lot ever since.’

Charles is distraught at the thought of leaving Coligny. ‘You must not die. You must not leave me!’

‘Charles, do not weep for me-‘

‘I’m so afraid-‘

‘Don’t be afraid, my beloved boy.’ Though his voice is weak, there’s love in it. ‘You are the king. You can save this realm. I know you can. I believe in you. I believe in your innate goodness.”

“Be strong as I know you can be. Calm yourself. Use your judgement, as I have taught you and don’t listen to evil counsel.’ He hesitates. 

How does he say what he is about to say? What he must say. Charles must be warned.‘Beware of your mother. Do not trust her. If you listen to nothing else I have said, hear this: She means you great harm.’

‘She is my mother-‘ Charles cries in anguish.

He sighs. The thing that makes it hardest of all is that despite her wickedness, despite her unnatural cruelty to them except for Anjou her avowed favourite, her children deep down love their mother. What has she done to deserve such deep-seated love when all she has done is abuse them from childhood? 

‘That woman is your evil genius. For your own sake and the sake of France, you must learn to reign alone. Without her.’

Charles nods slowly. He’s thinking about the advice of his mentor. Maybe, just maybe he will be able to reach the King in time. Maybe he and the rest of the Valois clan can be saved from the flames. From Catherine’s foul influence. 

The door creaks open. Catherine stands in the doorway, a malevolent smile on her face. There is no doubt that she has heard every word. That she lingered by the keyhole against the king’s wishes, listening to Coligny’s sincere and honest words to his lord. Worse, that she without any conscience eavesdropped on his words of comfort and love. Everything that he wanted to say to Charles alone has been stolen from them by her jealousy and wickedness.

‘I will remember all you said, dear Gaspard, I promise.’ Charles says fervently.

* * *

Catherine begins her attack on the king and his new determination for justice while he is with the Comte de Retz who she has schooled to back her up. Indeed his job while he was the king’s tutor was to corrupt and frighten him to such an extent that his head was filled with terrors, the better to dominate him and blight his soul.

“He has bewitched you, son, this is why a man like Gaspard is so dangerous. He lulls you into a false sense of security, telling you he loves you like a son so that you believe that you are safe. Then when they are confident, that’s when they will strike.”

“He does love me, I know it!”

Catherine is ruthless. She can see he is wavering, starting to doubt his own judgement, starting to doubt Coligny. ‘He would sacrifice you tomorrow if it meant he could enforce his religion on the entire country. He is a heretic and a fanatic and that is how they all think in their hearts, though they try to conceal it.’

‘All Gaspard has ever wanted was freedom of worship, Mother. For us to keep our promises against the Spanish in the Netherlands.’ 

“You know how I feel about that policy.” she says darkly. “’Tis suicide! With Spain on our doorstep and so powerful.”

“I see that I have been far too lenient with you, Mother. You forget that it is I who is king. Not You. Not Anjou, much as you’d like that. I have given you too much power.”

“Who says that? Coligny? How convenient!”

Charles attempts to stand on his dignity. “I have a mind and opinion of my own, Mother.”  
Her lips curve in a scornful line. “You? Since when have you ever had a mind of your own, Charles?”

“Always you delight to scorn and wound me, Madame.”

She brushes off his resentment like a stray cobweb on her shoulder. It’s time to implement the next stage in the plan. “They’ll start their attack. Monsieur Bouchavannes has come to us with details of a terrifying plot, which the Protestants are hatching. We found out just in time, thank the Lord.’

“I know that de Guise and his clan are responsible. Yet they managed to escape Justice.”

“They have la fortuna del diavolo, ‘tis true.”

Charles still seems suspicious. “I suspect they had aid evading justice. From high places.” He looks at his mother accusingly.

“What are you talking about, Charles? Really, you must rein in this mistrust. You’re beginning to sound like Margot now, seeing plots and melodrama at every turn-“

The stranger nods eagerly, keen to get his story under way. Catherine has worked hard to prime him with the right things to say, to whip up the king’s paranoia, always close to the surface, into a fever pitch. She wants him terrified, paralysed with fear. So afraid that he will agree to anything to preserve him from such horrors.

‘I have listened to what they plan behind closed doors. They plan to break into the palace-‘ 

‘How? We have security. Nançay and the Swiss Guard defend us daily. No one would ever get close enough.’ Charles says, in a mood to be querulous.

Bouchavannes is undeterred by the king’s objections, carrying on with his bloodthirsty tale. ‘They can be bribed, unless we get to them first. After all, they’re mercenaries by nature. It’s nothing for them to change their loyalty if it suits them. The Huguenots have friends in high places and there are many of them, Sire. They swore they will murder all the royal family in cold blood, unless they converted and gave up the throne in favour of their candidate.’

‘Who is their candidate?’

De Retz shakes his head sorrowfully. ‘Henri de Navarre, of course. He has always wanted revenge, ever since his advisers convinced him that his mother Jeanne d’Albret was unlawfully poisoned. Behind that gauche playboy exterior and country bumpkin Béarnais persona, he is fiercely ambitious. See how quickly he makes alliances with the English-‘  
‘You think they are involved? I have never trusted that slippery snake Walsingham, and his group of handsome young men. They have the bearing of soldiers. They are no strangers to killing-‘ Catherine mutters, eager to grind more axes.

They would slit your throat after torturing you. Your brothers they would burn at the stake, your mother too. They would violate Margot first, torture her, then chop off her fair head and display it on a spike in front of the Louvre for all to defile. So they could say: ‘Look, there lies the Royal Papist whore. De Guise’s concubine-’

‘No! Not my sweet sister!’ Charles cries out in anguish. Catherine conceals a smile. Bouchavannes is good, she’ll hand it to him for that. Hitting Charles’s weak spot like a drill to an exposed nerve.

‘These men are motivated by religion, Sire. They have no shame, no remorse. They will risk anything, because of their beliefs.’

“Murder?” Charles’s eyes are wide with horror. “You are asking me to agree to a massacre!”

Catherine drives the point home, a sharp shaft of guilt calculated to wound him. “All these years I have fought like a lion for this family. I single-handed, a weak woman, an outsider. For twelve years I struggled against odds you could not even imagine. And you balk at taking action like a king should and saving our family!”

‘Mother-‘ He has no defence against her when she starts to lay her guilt trip upon him.

“When I am nothing but a reviled memory, people will read about my struggles and they will say: ’There lies a woman who lived for her sons alone.’ In spite of the unjust suspicions of her own children. In spite of the slanders of her enemies, there was a woman who won their rights, and kept them! Maybe when I am dead and gone, you will appreciate the sacrifices I have made for you! The measure I have taken to save us from the fate which Monsieur Bouchavannes has gone undercover and risked his life to warn us about .”

“How can you ask this of me!”

“If your father was alive, he would have acted like a true king of France. He knew what every great monarch does. There is a time to do good deeds and bad deeds. Since his death, I have been left to do all the dirty work. Whilst you swan around, living in dreams and fantasies, dubbing yourself : ‘Charles the Merciful! Charles the Poet!’”

“At the risk of our mortal souls, Mother! How can you ask me to risk our souls?”

‘Why will you not listen to me, Charles? Has he bewitched you so much you cannot hear the truth? The Protestants plan these terrible atrocities against us. You saw them outside Coligny’s house, how hateful they were to us. They gloat about their vengeance in the streets. Shall we not at least attempt to defend ourselves, before they storm the place and take their bloody revenge?’

‘What do you plan, Sire?’ De Retz asks.

Charles shakes his head, thoroughly agitated. “I don’t know! I don’t know! Don’t ask me-”

“We must ask you.” She insists, ratcheting up the tension. “You are the king. You must make a decision, my son. Spill a little blood to save your family. To preserve our Catholic way of life.”

He stares at her, bewildered by her manipulation. With a sense of triumph, she sees all the signs he is on the verge of a breakdown.

“By the death of God, since you have decided to kill the admiral then I consent!” he sobs, overwrought, teetering on the brink of madness. “But then you must kill every Protestant in France, so that none can reproach me for the deed after it is done!”

She smiles triumphantly, since she has won game, set, match and tournament.

* * *

‘Did the King agree?’ asks de Guise, as the conspirators meet to finalise the plot.

Catherine smiles. ‘Yes, of course. He took a bit of persuading but I managed to convince him it was the only way to act. We, gentlemen are back in business.’ 

‘We have 20,000 men at my command. We shall start at the tolling of the bell of the Palais de Justice at the first sign of dawn. We shall cleanse our fair city of these heretics at last.’ 

Catherine watches de Guise; grimly amused at the way he has taken control of the meeting , almost as if it was his great idea in the first place. 

_This man is dangerous. I shall have to watch him, for he is too ambitious by far. And to think that Margot set her heart on marrying him! I would rather she threw herself away on a commoner like her gentle troubadour Nate than married someone like de Guise!_

He was still monopolising the floor, talking about how they must make sure that every Protestant dies that night. 

‘Every single one?’

‘Yes’. De Guise is implacable.

“What about Henri de Navarre? Monsieur de Armagnac? And the Prince de Condé?”

De Guise smiles his pitiless smile. “They are the ringleaders. They must die too. Didn’t the King say: ‘Every Protestant in France?”

De Retz looks troubled. He fidgets in his seat pulling at his ruff. “That doesn’t solve the problem of Lord Walsingham and his team.”

“What about them?” says de Guise, impatient as ever.

‘Well, they’re Protestants too. What exactly do we plan to do about them?’

‘We kill them too. At dawn with the rest of them.’

‘Don’t be a fool, de Guise.’ Catherine snaps, eager to take her resentment and irritation out on him.

‘What? Have you forgotten, Your Grace, we are still at war?’

‘We cannot touch them.’ She says placidly. “More’s the pity-“

‘Why not? They are Protestants. We have our orders. From the King himself. Every Protestant dies.’

‘Are you an idiot, de Guise? Hmm?’ she mocks. ‘They are under the protection of Queen Elizabeth herself. She values Sir Francis as one of her closest advisers. If any harm comes to them we risk hostilities from England.’

‘Would she go to war over them? Lord Colbert claims he is his secretary. How important could be they possibly be to her?’

‘We cannot afford to anger Queen Elizabeth. We are still negotiating an alliance with her and Alençon. If all goes to plan, he may marry her.’ Catherine says decisively. ‘Just think, my youngest son, King of England, Scotland and Ireland!’

‘We can apologise. Offer a ransom or compensation after the fact. I wonder how much they would be worth-’

‘-and can our treasury afford it?’ De Retz adds darkly. ‘We cannot pay back the bankers of Lyon. We cannot raise any credit whatsoever. How will we pay ransoms?’

‘Just because we say we’ll pay ransoms doesn’t mean we’ll actually put our hand in the coffers and do it.’ De Guise remarks with a cynical smile on that handsome face of his.

‘No.’ she says flatly. ‘We do not touch the English under any circumstances, or you will answer to me. I mean it, de Guise! Leave Sir Francis and his team alone!’

‘Fine.’ De Guise says sullenly.

* * *

“Are you really going to go and dirty your hands out on the streets of Paris?” asks de Nevers as they load their pistols and sharpen their swords for the night’s work ahead. “I know we have to finish Coligny off, but this other stuff-“

De Guise narrows his eyes at his brother. “Have you forgotten our blood feud, brother? Coligny must die, and at our hands. I only hope those fools know enough to leave him to us. For I swear if someone else takes our vengeance, our glory, I will slay them, then revive Coligny for me to kill again!”

“I’m not referring to Coligny. I mean the others and you know it.”

“Well, you know me, don’t you? If you want a job done, then you must do it yourself. I have no intention of letting Anjou take all the glory. Over my dead body!”

Louis knows better than to press, but Henriette’s hints remain in his mind. De Guise seems deadly obsessed with Nate, and this urge to kill does not bode well. After all, despite his disdain of the man Nate is still a de Guise. Still their flesh and blood, despite the fact his brother’s hatred and jealousy of him grows more potent with every day.

“You’re not answering the question, Henri and you know it. You know who I mean, Nathaniel Fick, the rightful Comte de Tournelles.”

“This is my chance. To be rid of him at last! I’ve comissioned a few trusty lads of my own to deal with the upstart. I happen to know through Maddelena’s snooping he’s requested a safe conduct pass into Paris. He will be out that night. And when we find him, and we will, I assure you I will have my way at last.”

“Do you really think you’ll get away with murder? ‘Tis risky, Henri.”

“Who will question one more missing person on a night like this? ‘Tis the perfect night to do it!” He notices his brother’s pensive face, the hesitant fidgeting that tells him de Nevers is troubled.

“What are you fretting about now, Louis?” he says, not hiding the impatient edge to his voice.

“Can you do this? However much you despise him? He is our cousin, our blood.”

“Nothing more but a drop!”

De Nevers shakes his head, They both know that’s not true.

“We have withheld his inheritance for too long. He should have inherited the title after Genevieve’s death. And instead we treated him as a nobody.”

“Where’s this sympathy coming from? He’s our enemy, remember?”

“He’s your enemy, not mine.” De Nevers shakes his head. “You’re too obsessed with vengeance, Henri. Let him be. What harm can he do to you?”

“If you are not not with me , then you are against me!”


	23. A Collision of the Stars

Claude moves to speak to her little sister Margot whilst they are sat in their mother’s salon. ‘Sister? Do you trust me?’ she breathes into her ear, so quietly that Margot has to strain to hear her over the hubbub of the room, the ladies-in-waiting murmuring as they circulate.

Margot doesn’t answer, aware that her mother is close by. She sits deadly still, the only movement being her mechanical stitching of the linen on her lap, the repetitive in and out of her needle through the fabric. Claude looks down at the frantically uneven stitches and takes her work away, leaning close to her sister in the process.

‘Sister, do not leave your apartments tonight. On pain of death. Do you understand?”

Margot gets that something is up. She looks up at her big sister, violet blue eyes wide in confusion,“What’s happening?” she breathes from behind closed lips.

Claude opens her mouth as if to speak, then says nothing. _What can she say, right under her mother’s nose? Even the few words she’s leaked out will cause trouble if they are discovered._

“Claude?” 

“Where is Nate?’ she eventually mouths, trying for discretion and glancing quickly at the Queen Dowager, to make sure they are unobserved.

‘I don’t know… he asked for a pass, I know that. He might not be back yet-‘ Margot looks up at her sister and there’s real fear in her eyes. Claude knows then. Margot is still insanely in love with her page. For a moment she can’t help pitying her younger sister. _She knows nothing of this night’s work, the trouble brewing beneath the surface. Someone should have the decency to warn her before 'tis too late, and yet I cannot, the stakes are too high. If their mother were to find out what they were discussing right under her nose..._

‘Find him and keep him with you, Margot. If you care for him still, even just a little, keep him by your side.’ She hisses, feeling that even that little warning statement was too much.

She clutches her sister's arm, “Claude, I don't understand-“

Claude turns away, not able to meet Margot's worried eyes. “I have said too much-“

‘What did you say to your sister, Claude?’ Catherine says in a deadly quiet voice right behind them.

Claude turns pale and stammers, unnerved by the soundless way Catherine sneaked up on them. She starts to tremble, losing her composure, ‘Nothing, Mother-‘

‘You whispered something. Claude, I heard you. Don’t lie to me. What did you say?’ Those dark eyes with their wicked gleam bore into her, as if to expose her secrets.

‘Nothing. A little frivolous message from the Duchesse de Nevers. I’m embarrassed to even mention it in front of you, Maman.’

‘And where is Henriette?’ Catherine looks around her querulously, seeking out a target for her malice like a spiteful cat sharpening her claws on all and sundry.

‘She’s with the Duc de Guise-‘ Margot interjects, all seeming innocence. ‘Claude told me-‘

Catherine gives her daughters a suspicious glance, unable to catch them out. ‘Claude, come here.’

Claude reluctantly approaches her mother, steps full of dread, eyes cast down. She knows that silky dangerous tone of voice only too well by now and what it means for her.

‘What did you say to your sister? Tell me the truth!’

Claude starts to stammer and stumble over her words, ‘N-Nothing, Maman-‘

Catherine seizes Claude’s wrist and twists unmercifully. The princess turns pale but manages to let out only a small squeak of pain.

‘If I thought that you were lying and scheming behind my back, Claude-‘

‘No, Maman. You’re hurting me! Mercy!’

Catherine drags her to the corner of the room, away from the possible eyes of the ladies in waiting, who are studiously pretending that they have witnessed none of this,‘What is wrong with you?’ she snarls through gritted teeth. “Have you lost your mind?”

Claude tries unsuccessfully to suppress a sob. “She’s my sister! Don’t you think she should know? That she has suffered enough!”

Catherine sneers at her, utterly unmoved by her plea, “Stop being sentimental, Claude, or you’ll give the game away.”

Claude cannot speak, a sob escaping her.

‘Not a word or it will go badly for you. Do you understand?’ she snarls, lips peeled back from her sharp teeth.

Claude nods, tears running down her cheeks. Catherine is far too strong for her, has always been too strong for her. 

‘Margot, go to bed. We can’t have you staying up and ruining your looks, can we?’ she turns to her younger daughter.

‘No, Maman-‘ Margot tries to say dutifully, though her voice shakes. Right now, her mother is frightening her. She's never seen her so menacing to Claude, so ruthlessly intent upon her own will. Whatever she has planned for tonight, trouble will come of it.

‘Just one word of motherly advice, my dear.” The smile she gives her daughter is devoid of all human feeling. Margot shudders deep to her bones to see it. “I would lock my door and not attempt to leave my rooms all night. This is no night for you to attempt to go on your nightly amorous wanderings. Do you understand?’

What can she do in the circumstances, but obey? “Oui, Maman.” she says, every inch the dutiful daughter.

* * *

Catherine puts out a call for the captain of the guard to attend her. Nançay has his feet up in front of the fire in the guardroom, taking a well-earned break when the message from the Dowager Queen comes.

"Did she say what she wanted?" he asks the cadet, his voice sharp with irritation. _Damn it, can’t he have one evening without some royal crisis requiring his attention?_

"No, sir. She was most insistent and most secretive. She didn't tell me a thing."

Guy sighs. If Catherine is calling him this late at night, it cannot bode well. With a regretful sigh he pushes his flagon of wine and his plate of food aside and stands up, ready to be on duty once more. "Tell her I'm on my way."

Catherine raises her head as she hears the knock on the door.

“Monsieur de Nançay to see you, Madama, as requested.” Maddalena says, before ducking out of sight.

She pastes a smile on her face, outwardly gracious as always. "Nançay, so good of you to attend me this late at night."

"What is your will, your Grace?" He bows to the queen mother.

She indicates for him to take a seat opposite her. "I assume Anjou has informed you of our plans this night?"

He has some major misgivings about the prince's plans, but he knows where his duty lies. To obey orders, no matter how arbitrary or ruthless. Dissent will not be tolerated.

"The signal will be the bell of the Palais de Justice. We shall rid ourselves of these arrogant dangerous heretics at last."

"I was always under the impression you rather favoured religious tolerance,your Majesty?” He remarks.

She raises her eyebrows at him in an intimidating gesture, her basilisk gaze fixing him to his place. "Monsieur de Nançay, I don't pay you to think. I pay you to obey my order to the letter without question!"

He says nothing, counting himself reproved.

"That's not why I called you anyway. I want you to keep an eye on my son Anjou." she continues, shuffling her papers restlessly.

He nods, relieved that at least he can legitimately be at Anjou’s side. "Of course, Ma'am." _Anything for Alexandre..._

“Yes, I thought that would be a mission after your own heart, shall we say?” She looks pleased with herself at that sally of wit, the malice set to sting him where he was most sensitive, every secret he tried to conceal exposed. Guy would wonder how much the Queen Mother knows about him and the prince, but who is he trying to fool? She probably knows about every kiss, every debauched passionate night spent in Anjou's bed. She makes it her business to know, doesn't she?

He doesn’t appreciate her snide insinuations about his relationship with Anjou, but he lets it slide. Frankly, he doesn’t have too much of a choice.

“I want you to shadow de Guise. Keep an eye on him, and make sure that he doesn’t go too far tonight.” she orders.

Guy is no remotely surprised that she is behind de Guise's involvement, despite the fact that she has deplored him publicly for the attempt on Gaspard de Coligny's life. _What a magnificent unrepentant hypocrite she is!_ “You want me to control de Guise?” Now this command was a surprise. "With all due respect, Ma'am he is a law unto himself?"

“If you see him go anywhere near the English delegation I want you to stop him from doing anything stupid, and then to report to me. He is a fanatic and a fool. I have bigger fish to fry tonight than Lord Walsingham and his team. Any attempt to hurt them will wreck my ambitions for Alençon, and I won’t have that. So remember what I have said! Watch de Guise!”

* * *

As Margot heads towards her apartments, still inwardly fretting about the intrigue that Claude is somehow so afraid to tell her, she meets Henri in an alcove far from the eyes of the courtiers that nearly always surround them watching their every move. Worried about what she has heard, she seeks to warn him.

‘My lord-‘ she murmurs, polite as ever.

His ironic little laugh has an bitter edge, which she notices straight away, ‘Well, isn’t this an interesting state of affairs? I’m reduced to meeting my wife in dark alcoves like an illicit lover!’

She catches him by the hand and presses a kiss to it. He pulls away, not registering the hurt on her face. ‘Henri, stay with me tonight. Don’t go out.’

He gives her an ironic smile, unmoved by her wiles. 'My lady, you do realise your brother the Duc d’ Alençon and Louis de Condé have invited me on a night out. They would both be rather insulted if I cancelled on them at such short notice.’

Even she can sense the barrier he has thrown up between. Tonight, of all nights, he is not willing to listen to her.‘Henri, please-‘ she starts to plead.

‘Margot, I haven’t time for this. I must be gone and soon.’ He says, shaking her off with impatience, her care nothing more than an irritating gnat to him.

She can smell Charlotte’s distinctive musky scent over his doublet, overly sweet, intoxicating and more than a little disturbing. _He’s been with her tonight._ Even though she knows she has hardly any right to be jealous and it’s perfectly irrational for her to be so, she can’t bear it. _That gloating little Circe all over Henri like cheap perfume!_

‘Fine, go out. See if I care, Henri!’ she snaps, sung by his dismissive manner.

He gives her an unpleasant smile. ‘I’m sure you won’t be short of a lover tonight. Why don’t you call on one of your old flames? Perhaps they would be happy to do the honours if you are feeling amorous?’

Her cheeks flush at the casual insult from her husband. ‘Go, then!’

‘Don’t worry I will. I will try and make sure I do not rouse you when I return, my Lady Margot.’

She watches him leave, cuffing the dampness from her cheeks and cursing her own weakness. _Why did she even care a jot what that rough coarse Gascon did? He was nothing to her! Nothing!_ "Go to Hell!" she whispers, her mouth set in a bitter defensive pout.

* * *

  
** Outside the Palace **

‘This isn’t one of your greatest ideas, I have to be quite honest with you, Brad-‘ Walt mutters as they duck down a side street. They’re nearly at the Louvre, and they have to get past the entrance before breaking in.

‘We have to make sure that Nate is safe and if necessary we remove him back to base. We’re just securing Sir Francis’s investment.’

Walt isn’t so sure about this, to be honest. Brad hasn’t said anything to him, and he wouldn’t expect him to, but he knows that there’s something going on between the two of them and Margot doesn’t like it. Frankly, she’s jealous of the hold Brad has over Nate.

‘What if he can’t leave the palace? What if he doesn’t want to?’ he urges.

Brad turns to him, ‘Why would he not want to leave?’

‘Well, you know how he is about the princess. What if he feels he has to protect her?’ Walt says hesitantly. 

Brad gets a determined glint in his eye that Walt knows of old is trouble. ‘Oh he will, even if I have to carry him out myself.’

‘You’re sure this is the right place?’ asks Walt, looking round at him.

‘She told me we had to approach from the pavilion and then count twenty windows.’

_So Brad has assistance from a member of the court?_ Walt has to say he is somewhat surprised, but maybe he shouldn't be. Though Brad often acts as if he is entirely above the petty concerns of this glittering court, full of intrigue and mystery, he has noticed that his leader has quietly befriended Henri de Navarre and the king.

A pale female face appeared at the window, lit by a half shrouded candle.

‘Jesus Christ, that gave me a fright.’ Walt recognises the face. It’s Margot’s elder sister Claude. Evidently Brad has managed to acquire some friends in high places.

‘Stay there-‘ she hisses.

A makeshift rope of knotted together sheets is lowered out of the window. 

‘What are you both doing here, Lord Colbert? Lord Hasser?’ she asks after she’d hauled up the line.

‘We have business inside the palace.’

‘Tonight? Are you crazy? You need to get out of here as soon as possible. Secure your house and stay firmly inside, for your own safety.’ she wrings her hands, obviously nervous, her gaze darting round, as if scared that she will be spotted in her rebellion.

‘What’s going on?’ asks Brad. "My Lady, speak plain. What has been planned for tonight? Why are the troops out in the capital?"

‘Evil things, Lord Colbert. Evil things-‘ Claude’s eyes are wide, as she clings to him trembling. ‘I fear for you and all your team tonight.You must not be seen, not tonight. I’m so afraid. For my sister’s sake, for Henri, for Nate. My mother’s anger will be terrible to behold if she finds out I ever helped you. I tried to warn Margot tonight, but-‘

Brad looks down at her delicate wrist, which is sporting a livid bruise and starting to swell. She flexes it gingerly, wincing in pain at the movement.

‘Who did that to you, my lady?’ he asks, not sure if he really wants to know the answer, but he has to know what they are up against.

She moves close to him, so she can whisper into his ear. ‘My mother. Do you understand? This is no courtly game, Lord Colbert-‘

‘We can only hope that he’s locked safely in his chambers tonight. We’ll keep to the shadows and check-’

Claude shakes her head. ‘Margot has no idea where he is, I asked her. She’s worried sick. I know you believe she is flighty Lord Colbert, and I would not deny it, but I think she does genuinely care for the lad and always has in her way-’

‘Damn it, he could be anywhere!’ Brad doesn’t even want to think about whether Nate might be out. Whether anyone, motivated by heaven knows what, jealousy or revenge might try to hurt him.

They reach his chambers which are locked.

“We’re going to have to pick the lock. It’s the only way.” Brad gets on his knees and gets to work, cursing the lack of light, hoping that everyone is too busy to notice that strictly speaking they should not even be in the palace tonight.

“Well, we’ve got our answer about where he is, Brad.” Walt picks up a note in his cubby-hole relieved that Nate shared the secret of his hiding places with him and reads it out. “It’s not good.”

‘I have gone to see Padre Tolomeo about a possible lead. Will be back in a couple of hours.” Brad cannot believe what he has just read. Tonight, of all nights, when Princesse Claude was adamant that something bad was about to happen, Nate is missing in action.

“What do you think he’s managed to find out?” Walt asks.

“If we don’t manage to find him, we might never be able to find out.”

* * *

**Margot's Chamber**

Margot is huddled in bed in the dim light of a couple of weak candles, frightened out of her wits, but trying not to show it. She stares into the dying embers of the fire in the grate, desperately trying not to worry about where Henri is right now, about where Nate may be. Her heart thumps in her chest, as the churning in her stomach and the sick choking feeling in her throat rises and threatens to overwhelm her.

_Please let him be safe. That’s all I ask, she prays silently over and over again, not entirely sure if she is praying for Henri, her husband; or Nate, her troubadour, her lover. _Is it wrong that I pray for the safety of a man who isn’t my husband?__

She hears the knock on the door, and rushes to open it, fumbling with the lock. “Gillone, I’m all fingers and thumbs! Oh God!”

Nate clings to the door-frame. His shirt is soaked with blood, his eyes wide with some unknown horror. He looks as if he is on the verge of collapse.

Margot turns pale at the sight of him, but she moves into action at once. “Gillone, help me get him onto the bed. Pass me some of my linens for bandages.” 

Gillone looks slightly shocked. “Your beautiful chemises-“

“Just do it, Gillone. I can always get new ones.” she says with the carelessness of the privileged.

"As you wish, Madame." the little maid takes a armful of fine linens from the chest at the bottom of the bed for her mistress.

Margot rips them into strips and starts to bind the wounds on his chest. “Thank God, it’s not deadly. It’s just bleeding heavily. I don’t think all this blood is yours. Find my salve box and some clean water in a bowl, Gillone, please. These must be cleaned and bound before they worsen.”

“Nate, talk to me, mon amour, mon coeur, she pleads, holding him close, not caring about the blood on her nightdress. “Please be fine. I can’t bear to lose you.”

His eyes flutter open at the sound of her voice. "D-Daisy?" he murmurs, struggling to focus on her, woozy with fatigue and the effects of the wound he has sustained.

“What happened to you, Nate?” she frets, out of her mind with worry, more scared than ever about what could be happening in the capital during her wedding celebrations.

“I had to go out. Do a favour for a friend. I got trapped in the city as the carnage started.”

Margot wonders what was so important that he felt he had to go out tonight, but she doesn’t push him. “Carnage?” she says fearfully. However annoyed with Henri she might be, she doesn’t want him out in that.

“You have no idea of what’s going on?” His eyes are wide. Margot shivers as she looks into them. Nate has seen something terrible, which has shaken him to his core.

She shakes her head. “Mother told me not to go out, to stay in my room. Claude was trying to tell me something at the salon, but mother wouldn’t let her speak. She was frightening.”

Nate shakes his head, disgusted “They planned this in advance. Bastards!”

“Nate, please tell me what’s going on?” she says fearfully.

“Your kinsmen are out on the streets of Paris, murdering Calvinists for sport.” His voice shakes with righteous anger, until he has a slow realisation that she genuinely has no idea of what is going on in the capital. "Anjou and his cronies are butchering your wedding guests in the name of religion."

“What?” She collapses into a chair, staring at him wildly, unable to believe what he is telling her, disgusted by the slaughter going on. 

“You didn’t know?”

She looks him in the eye and he can see how distressed she is as the full impact of the night’s events hit her. _She really did not know._

“That’s what Claude was desperately trying to tell me. Mother hurt her when she tried to tell me. She said to keep you safe by my side.”

“There are chains to block the streets, trapping the Huguenots like rats. Bodies lie in the street, run through. Women and children slaughtered like beasts.” He shakes his head as if to dispel the horror he has seen.“It is a charnel house out there. And I thought... I thought that you might have gone out in that. That you were trapped somewhere, lost and alone.”

She holds him close, consoling him in the only way she knows how, trying in some small way to make amend for her family's crime. “You are safe now, Nate. You’re here with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

* * *

The ladies have finally got back to a fitful sleep, worn out and exhausted from the distress of the night when there is a racket at the door, men's voices, raised and raucous with drink and belligerence and the sound of a door shattering under violent assault. Margot’s eyes fly open as she hears voices at the door, harsh cruel voices intent on entering her sanctuary.

Gillone is crying as she runs in, a bruise blooming on her cheek. “My Lady, he’s gone mad!” she sobs, wincing as the tears flow over her bruise.

Margot exclaims as she sees her maid-of –honour. "Someone struck you?"

“He did it.”

“Who? Tell me!” she unconsciously clutches at Nate who groans with his wounds.“Sorry, my love.” She whispers, contrite at causing him pain. “Who dared to strike you, Gillone?”

De Guise enters the room, a crazed gleam in his eye. He strides into the room as if he owns it and walking up to the bed levels his gun at Nate.

Quick as a draw, Margot draws her own small pearl handled pistol from under the pillow and holds it to his head.“Drop your weapon, sir.” She snarls.

“What if I don’t want to? What if I shoot you both here where you lie for your treachery?”

Her eyes are implacable as she faces her former lover, a look of sheer loathing on her face. How could she ever have fooled herself that she’d wanted him?

“May I remind you, my lord, that if you touch one hair on my head and my brother the king hears of it, it will be an instant death sentence. Right now, you’re looking at banishment for your insolence. Is it worth the risk, de Guise?” She stares him right in the yes, refusing to drop her gaze, every inch the defiant imperious princess.

He drops his hand with a reluctant snarl, although he still menaces both of them.

“What is the meaning of this, Monsieur de Guise? How dare you invade my quarters at this hour? What is the meaning of this outrage?”

He leers in her face, drunk on wine and something else; something far more dangerous which make her sick as she spots it in his bloodshot eyes. Bloodlust. “I will have my vengeance this night. He will not cheat me this time. And then I’ll take what’s rightfully mine.” He’s too close to her, his face flushed, his eyes glittering with malice. His hand moves down towards her breast, grasping it roughly, but she jerks away from him with a sharp violent movement, elbowing him hard.

“You insult me, Sir.” She grits out.

He sneers at her with contempt and hatred in his voice, “Only taking what you’ve teased me with for years. Who could blame me?”

She draws herself up as proud as the princess she is, blue eyes blazing. ”I was never yours, and you will not touch him!” she cries, using her body as a barrier.

De Guise tries to lunge past her to get to the wounded Nate but she won’t let him.“What is wrong with you? Stop this, you aren’t a savage. Why do you try to harm my Nate?”

De Guise snarls and lunges for him again, inflamed and enraged by his enemy and her protection of him. “That’s right. Hide behind her skirts like you always did.” he sneers at Nate, trying his damnedest to provoke him, even now.

“I’m calling the guard, right now if you don’t stop this! Have you gone mad and forgotten yourself?”

“No, you won’t my lady. Because even you can see how bad this would look if anyone saw you half-dressed covered in blood with two of your ex-lovers in your room.”

She shakes her head. “You’re a fool, Henri de Lorraine. A drunk bitter fool-”

“I saw him in the town as the sport started, and I took my opportunity. I don’t know how he survived five of my men. It seems your troubadour has hidden depths.”

“The Sport?”

De Guise lets a wicked grin spread over that blandly handsome face. “Tonight the streets run crimson with the blood of the heretic. At last they realise that they will be punished at last. Conform to the True Faith, or die.”

She turns pale at his pitiless glee, the undisguised zeal in his voice. Nate was right. Had her fellow countrymen gone mad? Pitting brother against brother. Father against son. Had society completely broken down in just one night of murderous madness?

“You followed Nate. To harm him.”

“Sneaking away from some shop, all cloaked and masked. I decided it would be an ideal opportunity to rid myself of a man who has done nothing but stand in my light ever since we were boys.”

“Why are you doing this, de Guise? Why?” she says, appalled by the light of fanaticism in his eyes.

He actually believes all this? Why did I never see this had gone too far? This was no longer some thrilling little amorous game pitting the two men against each other. De Guise means to kill.

“Maybe if I get rid of him, you would love me and me alone. You would finally give me what you refuse to bestow. Isn’t that you you desired? That your mother and the king would let us marry at last? That we could create a dynasty, you and I, to save France from the heretics?" De Guise says, full of bitterness.

She feels sick as she realises just how culpable she is for this terrible conflict. If only she had never encouraged him by her flirtation. If only she’d listened when Nate told her of de Guise’s hatred and bullying of him. She has to disillusion him now, before he gets any more dangerous treasonous ideas.

“Don’t you understand, Henri? It’s always been him. Since I was a girl.”

“You love him. How? He is nothing! He is a commoner who doesn’t know his place.” De Guise retorts with calculated brutality.

“He is your own flesh and blood, though you do not acknowledge him. He is a better man than you will ever be. In truth I don’t deserve him.” She says, shamefaced.“I will never forgive you for hurting him. Never-”

"Margot-"

“If I pull the bell-cord Monsieur de Nançay will come at once. You’ll be thrown in the Châtelet without further notice. Is that what you want?”

De Guise laughs in her face at her threats. “Guy-Dominic was out on the streets wetting his blade with rest of us! Do you think he’ll save you and this misbegotten wretch?”

He laughs at the shock on their faces, at Margot’s barely suppressed gasp of horror as she realises the scope of the danger surrounding them. “He’s no fool. Guy-Dominic will always follow orders and the Duc d’Anjou. He is a born soldier.”

“He wouldn’t let me come to any harm.” She whispers, trying to convince herself in the face of the collapse of her hopes. “And he’s Nate’s friend. You can’t-“

“The world has changed this night, Margot." he butts in with calculated brutality, "So we must change or suffer the consequences.”

“Your luck will run out some time, Nathaniel. And when it finally does I’ll be there waiting.” De Guise snarls as he stalks out.

* * *

Nate looks up and sees Brad framed in the doorway. For one horrible moment he sees the look on his face as he spots him all blood soaked and weary on the princesse’s bed.

"I'm still here. It's not all mine."

"What happened to you?" Brad asks. His voice is all hoarse like he'd blown it out searching for him, shouting futilely for him in this chaos. Brad would be crazy enough, to be brave enough to risk everything to find him. _Maybe there is some hope for us,_ some hopeful rebellious part of Nate thinks before he ruthlessly tries to stamp it out. _I blew it. He can’t trust me and I don’t deserve it._

"De Guise. He suspects. And now he uses the violence to strike at those he despises most. Marguerite and I."

"Where is she?"

Gillone edges back into the room drawn by their voices. “She’s gone to find Henri and Charles.”

“Out in this. Is she crazy?”

Gillone bustles round serving them two very welcome goblets of spiced wine and cakes. Though her poor face is bruised from de Guise's vicious treatment, she tries to make Brad welcome, remembering his polite attention towards her and devoting her attention to the wounded Nate, checking his bindings and making sure he is comfortable. “No, Lord Colbert. She’s gone to save his life.” 

Before he can answer she's gone leaving him and Nate alone at last.

* * *

“Tell me about Letty and Tom.”

"I courted her for years. I was seventeen when I asked her to marry me. I never thought that she would agree. The Glenisters are a grand Yorkshire family, centuries old. I was nothing more than a foundling brought up by self-made Jews. I worked hard to make myself worthy of her. So we could have a decent life together. He was my friend, at least I believed he was."

Nate just listens to Brad unthawing, allowing him to talk. He doesn't know what to think of Brad's tale. No wonder he had trouble trusting him, and how he had nearly squandered that hard earned trust by his unhealthy obsessive relationship with the princess. He sees the path he has to take now so clearly.

"I went away to Oxford. To gain some learning, to better myself, so no one could ever look down their nose at me and call me ‘Foundling’ in that disparaging voice.”

Nate’s heart aches at the thought of anyone looking down on Brad and trying to make him feel inadequate because of his birth.

“I met Ray there. It's funny. He didn't trust Tom from the beginning, he wouldn't keep quiet about it. At first I dismissed it as jealousy, but maybe he noticed what I should have. You know Ray is a thousand times sharper than he looks, for all his incessant chatter. Sometimes I think I would be lost without him at my back. That all the time I worked to make myself worthy of Laetitia he was courting her and winning her behind my back."

"What kind of a friend was that?" Nate tells him staunchly. "You didn't deserve that. Tom should have at least tried to be loyal to you." 

"So you see, perhaps I too am not as I seem. Not the all perfect demi god you see and admire.”

"I promise I will do whatever it takes to regain your trust, now that I know how important it is to you." Nate vows.  
Brad gives a little smile, such a sad one that it nearly breaks his heart to see it. “Is there any point?

“There is a point to me!”

“If it makes you feel better, I forgive you. It’s not really your fault things are the way they are. Sir Francis and Godfather did try to warn me in their way, but I was too headstrong to listen.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t try and be noble, not when we’re so close to sorting this out.” Nate says, not caring to hide the desperation in his voice. Now that he nearly lost Brad’s love he knows he needs this.

“We can’t do this. It seems you were right, though I simply didn’t want to hear it at the time. You need her patronage to succeed here.”

“Don’t you understand? That terrible night I nearly died. I realised what is important to me. Not this court. Not the lie I’ve lived for so long, I believed that was all I deserved. You are. I won’t give up on this. On us.”

“Is there an ‘us’?” Brad asks coolly, though the façade is cracking slow and sure. Nate always knew how to get under his skin, from the beginning, the very first moment he saw him in the garden at Fontainebleau.

“Do you not think so?” Nate looks up at him, pressed up against the headboard with a strangely beguiling look in his eyes. “Have I lost your regard so thoroughly?”

Brad doesn’t know which one starts the kiss. He only knows by the time he pulls away from the temptation of Nate's lips that the die has been cast. “I won’t share you Nate. You know that, don’t you?” he manages to say, his voice, rough with emotion.

Nate kisses the corners of his mouth, very soft and sure like he’s trying to reassure him.“I swear you never will have to. Never again. I promise.” Nate steels himself to tell Brad, sure he’s making the right decision. “I’m leaving court.”

“What?”

Nate repeats himself, his voice clear and determined. “I’m leaving Margot’s service. I’m leaving court.”

“You can’t! Sir Francis has a job for you to do. You can’t just up sticks and leave.”

“Why not?”

“Godfather and Sir Francis...maybe you don’t understand how ruthless they both can be. You know too much. Nate, you can’t just walk away. You yourself told me this. What’s changed?”

“De Guise wants my head on a platter. You didn’t see him tonight, but I did." Nate tells him. "I- I am compromised. I cannot stay here and wait for him to try and kill me again. He tried tonight, and he failed. But what about next time?"

“Why does he hate you so fervently?”

Nate sighs, trying in some way to explain the tangled snarl of familial hatred and jealousy between him and Henri de Guise, the bitter rivalry which had started when they were little more than boys. “He always has. He looked down on me from the schoolroom, because of my mother. I was not good enough to be a proper de Guise, for she was only a cousin who married for love of my father instead of submitting herself to the will of the de Guise dynasty. An unforgivable sin to the House of Guise. To make matters worse, Margot and I were so close as children. Like two halves on a whole. Day and night…Sun and moon. Her father, the old king had a fancy that we were a good pair. We were inseparable, she adored me and I worshipped her. Henri de Guise couldn’t bear it that it’s me that she wanted… Margot fell for the wrong de Guise.” Nate tells him with a sad smile, remembering past times. “He wanted her since she was old enough to marry. Charles and Anjou forced him to marry poor Catherine de Porcian to thwart his overweening ambition, but he still yearns for her and her claim. So she has kept him hanging on a string ever since as political leverage.”

“My position at court is untenable. He swore to kill me, and he hates to be thwarted. If it wasn’t for Margot pulling a pistol on him, I might not be here to tell you the tale now.”

Brad never thought he see the day when he’d be grateful for Margot’s stubborn loyalty, but hearing that she opposed de Guise, defended Nate and tended his wounds he starts to feel some positive feeling for the princess.

“She won’t let you go, Nate. You mean too much to her, and she is jealous of her possessions.” He hesitates to say that what they have is some kind of love. But perhaps in a strange dysfunctional way, it is.

“I can’t live like that. Not any more. We both knew it, although neither of us wanted to be the one to cut the bond and say goodbye after all these years.”

“She calls you ‘Her sun’. She swears she can’t live without you.” Brad asks. He doesn’t add the logical rejoinder: ‘Can you live without her?’

“Have you told Godfather yet?”

“No.”

As Nate looks up at him, there’s fear but an overwhelming trust too. At that moment Brad decides that whatever happens he needs Nate, Nate needs him and they’ll do this together.

"Do you believe this life is all you deserve? Spying and telling lies? To be nothing more than a plaything of spoilt royals? "

Nate shifts uncomfortably. Perhaps this is more truth than he's willing to take at the moment. He has to remember that even though his opinion of Anjou and Margot is very low these are Nate's childhood friends. There's a whole past life they share which he is cut off from. There must have been some pleasant moments during that time to earn his loyalty and love.

"You're so much better than all this. It's not right that Sir Francis and Lord Ferrando make you do this."

"My father worked for them and recruiting me was an excellent strategy for keeping him in line. I suppose I became for too useful to them as I grew and knew their secrets."

"If there's anything you want me to do. Anything I can say to Sir Francis to persuade him to release you." His hand curls round Nate's nape in a gesture of affection. 

Nate relaxes into his touch. "Frankly I don't hold out much hope if I'm honest."

"You aren't your father. Why should you spend your life paying for his mistakes?"

Nate leans against him briefly and closes his eyes, revelling in the sweet simple comfort Brad offers him, merely by his presence. "You're an honourable man, Lord Colbert." Nate says softly, "I only wish that one day I could be worthy of your love."

* * *

** Team Headquarters, Paris **

The rest of the team are at headquarters with the exception of Brad and Walt when the soldiers come, cutting a swathe of destruction through the district. They are huddled up in the house, the doors secured. the few lucky people who have managed to get there to seek sanctuary crowd around fearing for their lives and looking to Sir Francis for leadership and protection.

"There's so many of them."

Ursula’s face is pale, but she has a determined set to her mouth. ‘Then we shall defend this house to the death, if need be.’ 

‘Lady Ursula-‘. Despite the strain they are all under Brad’s never seen the look of pride on Sir Francis’s face as he looks at his wife. ‘Are we loaded up?’ The team check their weapons once more. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ ‘Good.’ She says with satisfaction. ‘I’ll heat up the boiling oil. Those monsters will not take us without a fight.’ 

The men take up their positions. Trombley has his musket trained on the approach to the house. He’s practically quivering with excitement. _He’s actually enjoying all this._ thinks Ray with appalled fascination. This is the most animated I've seen him since the start of the mission.

‘Trombley?’

He can hear the sounds of the mob getting closer to the hose.

‘We tell them to move on. If they persist in their attack shoot to kill, Trombley.’ Godfather orders, his musket trained on the mob. "Show no mercy, for they will show you none, I assure you."

The young man snaps to attention, ready to carry out Sir Francis's orders to the letter, ‘Yes, Sir!’

"I never knew that Trombley could be so bloodthirsty?"

Sit Francis hears him, ‘His instability is going to help save our lives, so right now. I’m not going to argue with it.’

Trombley’s in his element, taking the attackers out like a born sniper.‘That’s five taken out.’ He says, grinning from ear to ear. He hits another, right in the chest, crowing in satisfaction as the man falls. "Ha, that was a goodly strike! Right in the heart."

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ Ray says, watching him with a strange look on his face, half appalled, and half admiring.

‘He’s got the right idea. They have to know that we’re serious. We will defend this place and ourselves to the death.’ Sir Francis says, grimly cocking his musket alongside his men.

"De Guise-" the inevitability of it is almost laughable.

De Guise looks as if he’s enjoying himself. The grim light of fanaticism shines in his eyes as he leads his ragtag troop, fueled by little more than obsession and hatred. “I give you three minutes to surrender the Huguenots or we will blow the house up around your ears. Your choice, Sir Francis.” He shouts up.

The Huguenots tremble in fear as they hear de Guise’s threats.

“We’re not giving anyone up, I assure you.” Sir Francis tries to hearten the Huguenots, even in their moment of crisis. At the very least he needs them to keep their heads in front of this hateful zealous mob.

“He’s going to attack us here. Is he insane?”

"I suspect, dear wife, that de Guise is not working entirely off his own initiative."

A horse rides up from the river at great speed. The rider is bareheaded and Sir Francis tells his men to cease fire for a second while they see what new development has taken place. Besides he recognises the new arrival.

“That’s Nançay, isn’t it? What the hell is going on?”

Sir Francis’s face is grim as he listens in, his eyes gleam as that sharp mind of his works at a mile a minute, “The plot thickens.”

Nançay shouts at de Guise. He looks furious, long blond hair dishevelled and wild round his shoulders. The gorget round his neck shines in the light from the bonfires lit in the street. He points his sabre right at de Guise stopping a few inches away from his chest. “What the hell are you doing!”

“Obeying orders. Every Protestant dies, don’t you remember?”

“You are a fool! Stand down, I order you.”

De Guise sneers at Nançay, lip curling in scorn. “You? Dare to give orders to me?”

Nançay pulls out something and shows hit to de Guise. From the window Sir Francis strains to see it “Yes, Sir I do dare. You know in whom's name I speak. Now stand down immediately!”

_What could it be? The mystery thickens by the second as de Guise reluctantly withdraws, taking most of his mob with him. Though the team have had a narrow escape, he cannot help but ponder what he has seen and the meaning of it. In whose name...._

* * *

**Back at the Palace**

Margot heads straight to Charles’s room, hoping she will find him and his wife Elisabeth there.

Surely he has no idea what terrible things are happening in the capital. He wouldn’t condone de Guise’s murderous lust. It’s barely four days after the wedding ceremony. These people Catholic and Calvinist alike have come her wedding in good faith. To celebrate my union to Henri de Navarre.

She hears a low murmuring as she approaches the room. It sounds like Queen Elisabeth. Margot knocks on the door.

“Elisabeth? Your Majesty?”

The door springs opens. The queen is on her knees in front of the altar. She fervently prays, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She doesn’t even seem to notice when Margot sinks to her knees next to her.

“Elisabeth, you should be in bed.”

“How can I sleep tonight? When Charles has lost his mind. He’s steeped in their blood.” She wrings her hands.

“Charles? He’s involved in this atrocity?”

Elisabeth fights a sob, her shoulders shaking. Her long golden hair streams out on her shoulders making her look terribly young and vulnerable, like a distressed child. “Who do you think gave the order to ring the tocsin? To lock the gates so the Huguenots cannot escape?”

She knows only one man would have the authority to overrule the Constable of Paris. “He wouldn’t. Charles is a good man. He can’t know what is going on. What sins are being perpetrated in his name.”

“It’s a plot. One of your mother’s dark plots-“

Margot wraps her arms round the weeping queen. “Elisabeth, you know we can’t speak of this. Words are dangerous at a time like this. You have no idea of her power.”

“God help him. She starts to rock and weep in Margot’s arms, lost in her distress. “God forgive him for the sins of this terrible night. For allowing himself to be led into this crime.”

“Dear Elisabeth, please don’t weep.”

“I have to believe that my husband, the father of my child –“ she sobs, tears running down her face making it blotchy. “-The kind gentle man I care for would not do these terrible things! How can I live with the knowledge that he is not the man I believed he was?”

Margot holds her close, rocking her gently , making comforting little sounds to soothe the distraught young Queen. “Sister, please. You break my heart-“

“I pray for your husband and mine.”

“My husband? You know something about my husband?”

Elisabeth turns a tear streaked face to her. “Yes. He ordered Henri and Condé to the guardroom. They went with their followers for safety but the others were turned away. They herded them into another room. I heard the gun shots-“

Margot shudders at the horror of her mother’s ruthlessness but she clings onto the one piece of hopeful news Elisabeth has revealed. “But Henri is alive?”

Elisabeth nods.

“He was with Charles? Charles separated him from his men?”

“Don’t you see? He wants them to convert! He’s determined. I heard shots, and Charles ranting. You know what he’s like when his blood’s up.”

Margot knows, only too well. She shivers. “God help us.”

“I know it’s wrong, but I’m scared. I should go and plead for his life-“

“No, Elisabeth. Think of the child. You must be careful, darling. I would never forgive myself if anything happened.” Margot finds new determination, her chin jutting out. “I will go and find Henri and Charles. I will plead for their lives.”

Elisabeth looks at her with huge terrified eyes. “Marguerite, it’s so dangerous! There are soldiers stalking the halls, drunk with alcohol and blood. They might hurt you or worse-“

“No one will hurt me in my own home. No one would be so fool hardy-“ declares Margot, willfully not thinking of de Guise’s rough hands and leering face. She must risk it. She has to reach Charles.

Elisabeth hands Margot her own cloak. “Wear this sister on your journey. It’s my own. Perhaps it will give you a little extra protection tonight.”  
She presses a kiss to the damp cheek of the little queen. “Thank you, Elisabeth.”

* * *

Margot runs down the corridor, swerving to avoid the soldiers with hard faces stalking down the hall. Fleet of foot, she speeds down the corridor on the way to the guardroom, dark hair streaming out behind her.

_God grant I can get there in time. In time to stop Charles from committing a terrible atrocity._

“Where’s your favour? White for the True Faith!” leers one man, blood-smeared face uncomfortably close. She recoils at the fumes of strong brandy and garlic on his breath. “See you’ve been stuck into the combat already, fair maid. Hope you’re on the right side-“

Margot flails in a panic catching her captor painfully in the gut. He curses lunging for her again, bringing her down to the ground. “Stay still, you little whore.”

“No. I’m a Catholic! Leave me be! You have no idea who I am!”

“That’s what they all say-“ he sneers.

She fights like a wildcat, punching and kicking him in the gut, in the head, anywhere she can reach. He’s pinning her down on the floor and all the her struggles to free herself have proved unsuccessful. He reaches down as if to loosen the laces on his codpiece and she takes her chance, split second as it is. She slips her poignard into his unprotected side.

His eyes widen almost in astonishment that she would fight back. “You vicious little whore-“

His hands wrap round her neck, starting to squeeze the life out of her, leaving a livid red mark on the fair skin of her throat. With a burst of manic strength she plunges the blade into his side again and again.

Another man runs up the corridor plunging his halberd into the prone bodies on the floor. She hears the terrible groans as she realises that some of the bodies on the floor are still alive. The man with the halberd comes ever nearer, plunging his weapon into the prone body next to her. It lets out an awful groan and Margot realises how close she is to a brutal and horrific death.

“Nearly cleared this corridor, Monsieur de Nançay. None left alive-“ the soldier calls. 

Margot hears him, and his words give her renewed strength. _Guy must be near. I must try and get his attention! I know he wouldn’t harm me!_

“Nançay! Guy-Dominic, please!” She wheezes in desperation.

He swiftly scans the corridor, looking for the direction of her voice. He prises the dying man off her. His face contorts with disgust as he realises this man is one of his own.

Margot stares at him, shell-shocked by her struggle. “I stabbed him...He wouldn’t stop-“ she says, over and over again. “He just wouldn’t stop-“ her fist grips the blade tight, although he can see her tremble.

Nancay sees the loosened hose, the blood on the princesse’s nightgown and he makes up his mind quickly. He pulls out his pistol.

“No, sir. Don’t do it.” The wretched man rasps, the life seeping out of him as he clutches Nançay’s blood-spattered sleeve, begging for mercy from his superior. “Monsieur de Nançay, I’m one of yours-“

Guy’s face is impassive as marble as he peels the man’s fingers away from his garment.“You harmed the princesse-“ his voice is cold and impersonal. “You dared to lay hands on the Princesse-“

The man shrinks away from the judgement in his voice.

“If you have a confession to make, I’d say it now if I were you? No? You’d go to your grave unshriven?”

“No, you can’t do this! Monsieur de Nançay, have mercy!” the soldier starts to beg for his life in earnest.

Guy is unmoved, “Open your mouth.”

It was a mistake, sir. I didn’t know who she was-“ he gibbers, seeing the end of his life writ large before him. “I wouldn’t have touched her. Mistress, please-“

Nancay strikes him across the mouth with his heavy leather gauntlet. Blood starts to gush from the blow. “How dare you speak to her after what you have done! Open. Your. Mouth.”

He slides the barrel of the pistol into the dying guard’s mouth and fires, blowing his brains out. The shock seems to shake Margot from her trance.

“My Lady, what the hell are you doing out of your room?”

“There’s no time. I have to get to the guardroom.”

“This is no place for you, my lady. See how dangerous it is? Go back and lock your door and pray-” his voice breaks. “-pray for all of us.”

“They have Henri and de Condé in there. He’s my husband. Please Guy, I have to do something-“

He makes up his mind. “See that door? Down the staircase and two doors along. Be swift and you may be in time to save his life.”

“Thank you.”

“Try and keep out of trouble, won’t you my lady?”

“I’ll try.”

He gives her an ironical little salute as she speeds away towards the staircase.

* * *

**The King's Office**

“Sire, please. I cannot forswear my faith. I will serve you in any way possible but you must not ask this of me!” Condé sounds close to tears as Charles menaces him.

“Do not test my patience. I have given you a choice and I require one answer. Convert or die.”

"Will you kill me too, sire-me, your brother-in-law?" exclaims Henri, astonished by his implacability.

Charles IX. turned away to the open window. "I must kill someone," he cries, and firing his arquebuse, struck a man who was passing.

Henri is chilled by the wild light in Charles’s eyes. He doesn’t know this cruel madman, intent on death. This isn’t the gentle, kind king who seemed to adore his sister Margot, his innocent little wife Elisabeth, and Marie Touchet, waiting for her prince in her woodland cottage. An image of Charles cuddling his son that day, ruffling his long dark curls comes to his mind. How can he be capable of such atrocities? To order the death and destruction of his people?

Then, animated by a murderous fury, Charles loads and fires his arquebuse without stopping, shouting with joy when his aim is successful.

"It's all over with me!" says Henri to himself. "When he sees no one else to kill, he will kill me!" _He's lost his damn mind...I am too young to die. Not here like this, at the hands of a madman._

Catherine de’ Medici enters as the king fires his last shot. "Is it done?" she says, anxiously, not seeing Henri.

_She's the ringleader. She's put him up to this, of course she has! Why did I not see it before?_

"No," the king exclaimed, throwing his arquebuse on the floor. The fury seems to have drained out of him suddenly, leaving the haunted shell of a man. "No; the obstinate blockhead will not consent! But I cannot do it!" his voice breaks into a sob.

Catherine gives a glance at Henry which Charles understands perfectly, and which says plain as day, "Why, then, is he alive?"

"He lives," said the king out loud to his mother, "because he is my relative."

“You are a fool!” she hisses, clenching her fists in her dark velvet skirts. “Must I do everything myself?”

Charles ignores her anger, his voice becoming more steadfast. “He lives because he is a good man, and he cares for my Margot.”

"Madame," he says, addressing her for the first time, "I can see quite clearly that all this comes from you and not from my brother-in-law Charles. It was you who planned this massacre to ensnare me into a trap which was to destroy me and my people brought here in good faith. It was you who made your daughter the bait. And what irresistible bait she was! The ‘Morning Star of France’, and I dared to dream you would give her to me!”

Catherine gives him a cynical look. Not hiding the malice she bears him.“You are not as stupid as you appear, how very intriguing.” She smirks, her dark eyes boring into him.

“You who have separated me now from my wife, so that she might not see me killed before her eyes! My mother warned me about you, but I never believed it was possible that you could be so wicked."

"Yes; but that shall not be!" cries another voice; and Marguerite, breathless and impassioned, bursts into the room.

"Sir," says Marguerite to Henri, those big blue eyes wide with horror. "As soon as I knew of your danger I sought you. My husband, where have you been? I have been worried sick about you!”

Margot kisses him, pressing her body close to his. He notices her nightgown is ripped and covered in blood. Now is hardly the time to ask about it, but it is very odd.“Play the game, Henri, as you have never played it before. Trust me.” She whispers into his ear.

“If you are exiled, sir, I will be exiled too; if they imprison you they shall imprison me also; if they kill you, I will die at your side!"

She gives her hand to her husband and he seizes it eagerly. Right now, he has to applaud Margot’s highly developed sense of Melodrama. He sees what she is up to; using Charles’s undeniable affection for his little sister to save him. Henri has to admit she’s good, knowing exactly how to appeal to his sentiments to rouse his pity.

“Margot, you don’t know what you ask of me-“ Charles says, while Catherine grinds her teeth in frustration.

"Brother, sweet kind Charlot-" cries Marguerite to Charles IX., appealing to his better nature. Her big blue eyes well with tears. One trickles down a cheek becomingly. "Remember, you made him my husband, before God and the entire country! Would you give him to me with one hand, and take him away with another?" 

Charles bites his lip, stricken by her tears. Henri sees the anguish he is in. The King cannot bear to see her cry. How it must have hurt him to force her to take his hand in marriage that day in front of Notre-Dame!

"Faith, Margot is right, and Henri is my brother-in-law," says the king, turning to Henri who grips his wife’s hand in relief. “Go back to your apartments with your wife, before I change my mind.”

“My lord-“ Henri sweeps into a relieved bow, breath finally filtering into his lungs. “Thank you. I owe my life to your clemency.”

“My lord-“ Condé starts, abject in his misery as he sees mercy granted to Henri.

“Get out before I change my mind,” Charles snaps. Condé doesn’t need telling twice. He runs from the room, as if the hounds of hell snap slavering at his heels.

As the couple try to leave the room, Charles stops them,“Margot?”

She freezes in the doorway. “Yes, Charles?”

“Why are you so dishevelled, ma soeur? Why, there is blood all over your nightgown!”

Frankly, Henri thinks this is a very good question, but he holds his tongue. After all, Margot is calling the shots here.

“You do not know what has happened this night. The insults and danger I have endured to save my husband. But what does it matter if I still can smile? Goodnight, dearest brother.” She sweeps into a deep curtsey, pressing her mouth to the leather of his boot. “My saviour.”

As soon as they leave the room, she drags him along gripping his hand as they run to their apartments.

“D’ye mind telling me what all that was about?” Henri says, pulling her into an alcove.“Where did you get the blood on your nightgown?”

"They have made me the means for attempting to destroy you, but I didn’t know that in marrying me they would strike at you too. I myself owe my life to chance, for this very night they all but killed me in seeking you.” She shakes her head, her voice breaking. “You don’t know…you don’t know.”

She turns her head away, shutting him out. “What you don’t know won’t hurt you, Henri.” 

“Our apartments...God, I am weary tonight. I would do anything for a good night’s sleep in my own bed.”

Margot flushes as notices her slight guilty hesitation.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“That might be a slight problem?”

Henri is incredulous at her brazen flouting of the marriage vows. Even he’d told her in irritation that she should find another lover for the night, he’d never actually suspected she would take him his words and do just that.

_I suppose I should be grateful that she even bothered to spare a few moments from her amorous adventures to save his hide from her ghastly family. Could she make it any more obvious that she was using him for the position? She had no affection for him alone. What is the point of loving someone who makes it perfectly obvious her heart is reserved for someone else? It’s not in his nature to compete with a shadow._

“I wish you joy of him, Madame.” he says in his most viciously cutting voice. “I must beg you, keep the noise down on your swiving. For I find that after being in fear of my life tonight, I could not bear to be kept up a moment longer.”

“It’s not like that, Henri. He’s hurt. Nate is my best friend and right now, he needs me.” she tries her best to explain, before he gets any more ideas about her and her alleged lovers.

“And I don’t?” he flashes back.

Her mouth curves into a mocking cynical smile, eager to wound him. “Oh Henri, when have you ever needed me?”

_Everything suddenly fell into place. Nate’s refusal to accept the gold, his disgust at Henri’s behaviour backstage with Charlotte, his constant presence at his mistress’s side. Is this her secret lover? He can see them together in his mind's eye and he cannot help but seethe at the image. His beautiful wife entwined in bed with that fair elegant youth, with his soulful green eyes and lithe lean body._

“There. You may have the bedroom now, my lord. I’ve cleaned up as best as I can.”

“Where are you going?” Henri says in surprise as she guides Nate into his favourite chair by the fire. Henri notes with a stab of resentment how solicitous she is to him, rushing to prop him up, getting him anything he desires, holding his hand with that stricken look on her face. He notices her secret little press of her lips on the inside of his wrist, so intimate and erotic, with a tenderness he has never had from her. A giveaway. This cannot be an innocent friendship.


	24. The Moral Void

"You have to leave court." Margot says, biting her lip in agitation as they linger in the garden. "It isn't safe for you any more."

"Daisy-" he knows how much it cost her to say this, she who depends on him so thoroughly.

"I have been so terribly selfish. Exposing you to his malice. If only I'd thought about the consequences of my actions. If only I hadn't given him hope. Flirted with him for my own amusement." Her voice falls to an ashamed whisper. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

Now he knows she will release him, all the recrimination between them melts away.

"But how can I leave court? Everyone knows that I serve you. And Sir Francis-"

"Sir Francis? What has he got to do with any of this?" she says sharply.

Nate curses himself. He so very nearly gave the game away in his strain. "He acts as my guardian. My father trusted him to take care of me, whatever happened. I shall go there, until I have had enough time to work out what to do next."

"Please, I'm afraid for you, for Henri de Lorraine is obsessed and I never saw it, never realised this had gone too far."

"What do you plan to do?"

Margot thinks, massaging her temples, searching for a solution to the problem. "I have to make everyone believe that I am displeased with your service,that I dismissed you in a fit of spoilt pique. People will believe that, I imagine."

He knows what it cost her to say it. To admit defeat when she needs him so.

“Let me do this for you. I have made you so unhappy. You have sacrificed so much to be with me. Let me bring you some joy at last.”

* * *

They stage a fight, allowing Margot to indulge her most melodramatic flights of fancy. Nate has to hand it to her, she certainly is more than capable of playing the role, despite the fact that she must be distraught to lose him. They have been together since childhood. She's always depended on him for so long.

The scene plays out in the garden. She kisses him on the cheek before hand. He brushes a tear away from her cheek.

"Are you ready, Nate? This isn't going to be pleasant. We have to make them believe I have turned my back on you.-"

"Do what you have to."

They hear steps behind the yew hedge and they both know that they must play to their audience.

She switches into role so quickly, if he wasn't so attuned to her mercurial moods he would have been caught by surprise."You don't own me, Nathaniel. I have allowed you far too many liberties, I see."

"Maybe I don't want to be your plaything any more, did you ever consider that?" he snaps back, feeding off her feigned outrage like a fine actor.

"Plaything? You dare to speak to me like that?" she hisses, bristling with outrage.

"Did you feel anything for me?"

Her face turns pale.

"Don't you understand? There was never any future for us, but I was in love with you."

‘Someday there will come a time where you have to say “No.” For your own sanity, you have to draw the line. I’m sorry Margot, I’ve reached mine...I can’t do this any more. You live in a web of lies and I cannot live like that."

"Don't you dare ever tell me what I felt for you wasn't real."

"Was it not, my lady? One of your political games?"

"Leave me!"

She runs away, her eyes streaming with tears. Nate doesn't know whether the tears are real or feigned. He can't help the pain he feels at her tears, even though they both know the truth.

* * *

It is only a matter of time before Henriette comes to find him, and he wants to laugh at the serious look on her face. How little she understands, though he understands her loyalty to her friend and mistress.

"She's furious with you, you know."

Nate just looks at her.

She shoves him, fiery hair bristling with rage, dark eyes snapping and scowling with righteous accusation, "Why do you have to be so cruel? I would never have imagined you to be so cruel. And you professed to love her-“

He cuts off her rant, turning on his heel to leave her, playing the role of the cruel jilt as if his life depends on it, which he supposes it does, in a way, "-then perhaps you don't know me at all, do you Madame de Nevers?"

Her mouth opens in a perfect round O of shock. Out of everyone at court, he is probably the last person anyone expected to talk back.

_If this doesn’t convince them I’m on the way out, then nothing will._

* * *

When Henri comes to find her, she is sitting on the bed arms hugging her knees. She looks desolate. Her normally sleek dark hair in a rumpled mess, her famed roses and cream complexion blotchy.

“Dear wife-“

“What do you want, Henri?” she asks in a leaden voice.

He looks closely at her. Margot’s eyes are red. If he didn’t know better he would say she had been crying.

“We need to talk.”

“What about? This isn’t a good time, Henri. Can’t it wait?” Margot sits on the bed, knees huddled up to her chest. He was struck by the misery in her eyes. Who does she grieve for? Perhaps she is more human than I had first thought, ponders Henri.

He shuts the door and faces his wife. There are tears streaked down her face and her nose is a rather unbecoming shade of pink. She doesn't even seem to notice or care how wretched she looks.

"Must we do it now? This isn't a good time at the moment."

"When then? When do we talk?" he insists.

She looks cross. "This had better be important.”

“Where’s that blasted musician of yours, always underfoot dancing attendance on you. Your de Guise pet?”

She looks at him in sheer misery, not even having the motivation to fight him. That look in her brimming dark blue eyes disturbs him in all honesty. She is human. She has deep feelings for this one. Feelings she never once pretended to have for me.

“He’s gone. He left court. I hope you’re happy now-“

He feels the sting of her rebuke and lashes out, eager to hurt her when she is down."The entire court talks of how you cuckold me with other men. And now I find you weeping over another man. How am I meant to feel as your husband? How can you expect me to endure such an insult?"

She gives him an incredulous look despite her tears.

“And do you believe them? No, I don't even have to ask. You always did think the worst of me, didn't you?” she gives him a bitter little smile, just the corner of her ripe pink mouth turning up. “Why did you marry me if you think so little of me? Was it for peace?”

Her caustic tone wounds him but he hides under his own brand of jocular cruelty.

“Why do you weep my lady? You can always get another musician. Or another lover-“

"It's none of your business. Why don't you just leave me alone?" she sounds close to tears, but he can't help poking at the spot, like a freshly scabbed scar, still raw underneath.

“What is this man to you. This pretty young troubadour?”

“The only man who I ever truly gave my heart to. The only one in the entire palace who cared about me and loved me for my self. Not the Princess…but Marguerite.”

“You dare look me in the face and tell me you love another man?”

“Do you not cheat on me with my own maids of honour? I warrant you haven’t given up Charlotte de Sauve, have you?”

He starts, surprised she knows about his clandestine affair.

“I have every right to feel insulted. You’ve probably cuckolded me with him in our own marital bed. Laughing behind your hand at me while you carry on with your lover.”

“You have no rights over me.”

“I am your husband, I own you!” he sneers.

“Just stop. I can’t do this now-“

* * *

‘We have to discuss this. Now is not the time to act rashly.’ Henri says exasperatedly. No one in the room has slept for hours and the dawn has nearly come.

‘There is nothing to discuss, my liege. These people are crooks and murderers.’

‘They never intended to deal honestly with any of us.’ Godfather states. ‘Both Sir Francis and I are of the mind that it’s time to cut our losses and return to our home country-‘

“That’s easy for you to say.” Condé says bitterly. “At least you honourable foreigners have that option. To run and turn tail as it gets hot in the kitchen.”

Sir Francis isn’t having any of it. “In case you haven’t noticed my Lord de Condé, this isn’t our battle. Lord Ferrando is right. Our best chance of survival is to head back home and regroup. Here in the Valois stronghold, we’re sitting ducks now that they’ve played their hand.”

‘Do you agree with him, Monsieur de Armagnac? Should we return to Navarre?’

‘You cannot negotiate with such folk. Our only option is to retreat while we still can and regroup in Pamplona.’ 

Du Bartas agrees fervently nodding his head. “I say we head off tonight, under cover of darkness-”

‘How easy would it be to get back home, Du Bartas?’ asks Sir Francis. ‘-Because I don’t believe that it will as easy as you all think.’

“You think that we’re all prisoners?” Henri says.

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that. What did Catherine say when you asked whether you could leave? When Coligny was shot?”

Henri thinks for a moment. “She made a host of lame excuses about how she needed her family round her at this trying time. Would I desert her in her hour of need?”

‘And did that ring true?’

Henri laughs bitterly. “Not according to Margot. They have a very strained relationship. No love lost on either side. Catherine is up to something-”  
“Do you trust the princess’s word, Sire?” Godfather asks.

‘Shouldn’t he?’ asks Sir Francis. ‘She is Queen of Navarre now. His interests are hers now. Her fortune is linked to his-‘

‘She’s one of them. How do we not know whether she was in on the entire thing?’ Armagnac’s eyes narrow accusingly.

‘She’s my wife, Armagnac!’

‘Oh don’t tell me you’ve fallen for her as well?’ he says, scorn lacing his words. ‘Like practically every other man in the palace? Margot the siren has cast her spell on you? She gave herself to you to get you under her control. I bet you consummated the marriage, didn’t you? That very night? So much for her shameful display in front of the cathedral. How she would rather be a martyr than give herself to you-’

Sir Francis can’t help being amused by Armagnac’s hypocrisy. He’s berating Henri for treating Margot as his wife, when Sir Francis knows for a fact that he has been seduced by Anne-Marie on behalf of the esquadron. It’s guilt that fuels his attacks on Margot.

‘Margot has done nothing to arouse my suspicions. You also forget my lord Armagnac that my interests are hers now.”

“But-” Armagnac splutters.

“She is my wife, so if I were you, I would moderate my comments, My Lord.’ Henri’s voice is cold. Sir Francis remembers he is King now and has steel within him, though he keeps it well hidden.

‘Not if she’s done a deal with her family. Once she’s done her duty and married you for peace, if she swiftly becomes a widow then she is free to marry who ever she pleases. De Guise is probably laughing himself sick.’

‘Do you agree with this, Lord Francis?’

‘I will admit the theory crossed my mind before the wedding.’

‘But now?’

‘Now that I know the Princess better, I don’t think this is the case. Margot is spoilt and capricious enough to drive any man to drink, but one thing she is, is loyal and immensely stubborn. If she gives her word, she will keep it at whatever cost to herself. If only her brothers had the same sense of honour-’

 

When Henri enters the room, his eye is immediately drawn to a large stain on the wall. It looks remarkably like blood. A shiver passes down his spine as he realises what happened to poor, stubborn, proud Armagnac. Is he due the same fate?

‘Henri, my son. Come kiss me-‘ Catherine says.

He can’t move, merely staring at her.

‘Where is my lord Armagnac?’ he asks in a low tense voice.

Catherine gives a light laugh, indicating the seat in front of her with one finely shaped hand.

‘Why must we start with such unpleasant matters, Henri? We must talk. Monarch to monarch. You understand, don’t you?’

He rebuffs her friendly overtures. ‘No, I do not. I find, I must ask you to speak plainly, Your Majesty-‘

‘Mother-‘ she reproves with a roguish smile that sends a chill down his spine. That she can plot such things and yet smile at him. Ask him to call her ‘mother’. Henri is disgusted by her, frankly.

‘You’re an intelligent man. I don’t have to explain what has happened over the last couple of days, do I?’

He meets her eyes dead on, determined not to let her intimidate him any more.

‘No, Madame. I find murder is very plain and understood by everyone. Royalty or peasant.’

‘You know de Guise was of the mind that I should eliminate you and Condé as well. As the ringleaders of the insurrection before you could carry out your nefarious plot to torture my family, slay innocent Catholics and end with yourself installed on the throne in revenge for your mother’s death-‘

‘There was no insurrection!’ he nearly shouts. ‘I came here in peace to marry your daughter. I have never once publicly blamed you for my mother’s death-’

‘I’m going to ignore the fact you forgot yourself enough to raise your voice to me.’ She says frostily. ‘You are obviously upset, Henri. I spared your life, you know. I persuaded de Guise and his Catholic forces to give you a choice. A chance to save your own lives.’

‘What choice is that?’

‘Death, Mass or the Bastille.’ She says, frosty as winter. ‘-Though in truth, I cannot guarantee your safety if you choose the Bastille.’

Would she murder him herself? Henri would put nothing past this woman. Or did she have one of her sons, or de Guise hidden waiting with a knife to slit his throat?

‘Mass?’

‘You convert to the true faith publicly. Allow Margot to lead you to the altar, you make a frank and full confession of your heresies-”

“You want me to recant my faith?” he says bluntly. “To turn Catholic?”

“It is a lot to think about, Henri. I will give you time to consider your future. You are a wise man, for all your tender years. I trust you will make the right decision. Margot will not thank me if I make her a widow at such a young age.”

“Where is my wife?”

Catherine looks up from her notes. ‘Margot? She has been confined to her room. These are very upsetting times and I would not expose her to things that would distress her. Besides, I know my daughter well, and I didn’t want her to do anything-“ she pauses with a wicked smile, “-rash. These are dangerous times, Henri.’

“We are both your prisoners. Under House arrest?”

Catherine gives him a falsely innocent smile. “Such an unpleasant way to put things, my son.”

But none the less true.

* * *

Nançay leads him to Margot’s chamber. He barely looks at the young king who’s following him, walking briskly towards the room.

‘Is she hurt? Why are they keeping her prisoner? I don’t understand. She’s Catholic as well. She’s one of you-‘

Nançay pulls him roughly into an alcove.

‘Tell me what’s happened to my wife!’ Henri insists.

‘You will excuse me for speaking bluntly?’

‘Of course-‘ Henri says, all impatience. ‘Just tell me where my wife is!’

‘Then Sire, I tell you quite bluntly, you are a fool!’

‘Monsieur de Nançay!’ he says, quite taken aback by his vehemence.

Guy carries on unabashed. ‘She told you not to leave the palace, didn’t she? She begged you to stay with her that night. And you didn’t listen. You went out with Alençon and Condé.’

Henri smarts under the older man’s reproach. “Now wait just a second, Monsieur de Nançay!”

“Did you know where your wife was the night of the massacre! Do you?” Nançay sounds quite angry now.

“Probably swiving one of her many lovers.”

Nancay makes a noise of sheer frustration. “She was running round the palace looking for you and her brother to beg him to spare your life!”

“Oh!-“

“She was attacked by a soldier drunk with alcohol and lust. If I hadn’t been there...If I hadn’t intervened-“

Henri catches the word ‘lust’ in Nançay’s rant. A feeling of horror rises in his gut. “What happened? Someone dared to try and assault my wife!”

“He has been dealt with. He will harm her no more. I assure you, Sire.”

“He was one of yours?”

Nançay nods. “To my eternal shame! Yes, Sire.”

“You said you dealt with him. How?”

The soldier doesn’t flinch. “A bullet through the head, Sire.”

Henri is torn between gratitude for Nançay’s valour towards Margot and horror at his ruthlessness. This palace is nothing more than a viper-pit indeed!

“You executed him? At point blank range. In front of her?”

“He was my man. He was my responsibility.” Nançay says shortly.

Henri is still shocked. “She never said. She didn’t say a thing-“

“Do you blame her?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“If you’d stayed with her, they wouldn’t have dared to touch you. They locked her away to hide the true extent of the night from her. Because they knew if she found out she would try to do something rash. That’s Margot all over.”

Someone had tried to separate them, to make it easier for his unseen assailant to attack him. Henri feels extremely vulnerable all of a sudden.

“If you want to know the truth I think you have misjudged her. Sure I seem to spend my nights chasing her round Paris making sure she didn’t get into any scrapes she couldn’t handle, but she is a decent sort. Spoilt mischievous little madam, but if she cares for you, she will run any risk to keep you safe.”

“Why do you do this for her? I know you work for the family, but-”

Nançay gives a short bark of laughter. “Do you think this is about them? No, your Grace. A friend who loves her, and who I care about made me promise I would keep her safe. I merely honour that pledge.”

“And who is this man? The one that loves her so dearly? De Guise?” Henri believes he knows the answer but for once he wants someone else to say it, to voice the suspicions he nurses against her troubadour Nate.

Nançay laughs, mocking him openly. “Not him. His interest in her is mere ambition. Even she knows it in her heart though she loves to play with fire and flirt with him under her mother’s nose. And before you try to press me further, I will not reveal his identity.”

“But-“

“I gave my word to him, and I will not break it. He is a decent man, and if any man deserves her love it is him.”

“And not me?”

“What have you ever done to deserve her love?”

* * *

The moment Henri and Sir Francis enter the room, Margot runs into his arms. There are tears running down her face. She hugs him as if she will never let him go again.

‘You’re alive! You’re still alive!’ she sobs into his shoulder making it damp with her tears.  
‘Margot.’

‘I thought I’d lost you too.” He’s touched by her emotion, but it’s only when she draws away that he thinks about the wording of what she said and the phrases hits a jarring discord. I thought I lost you too?

“I’m still here. It seems despite your mother’s machinations, I am not so easily killed. I was born under a lucky star-”

“She’ll hate you more than ever. If she thinks you are thwarting her predictions, interfering with the fortunes of the Valois. It’s her obsession, it always has been. Horoscopes and sacrifices from the Ruggieri to foretell our future.”

“My advice to you is to leave this place by whatever means. You cannot stay here, and neither can Margot as your wife. Your country needs you. Go back to Navarre, where she cannot touch you so easily.” Sir Francis advises.

“I can’t.” Henri says helplessly. Sir Francis remembers that he is still very young. His mother’s early death has forced him to grow up and become a man in a dangerous world too early. “I’m not safe there either even in my own kingdom. They’ll murder me, just like my mother Jeanne. These cursed Valois! Crooks, Damned souls, corrupt, wicked, evil-”

She doesn’t attempt to correct him, even though in truth she is one of them herself.

“Henri, listen to me.” she says calmly. "You have one ally here. Me."

While he turns to his wife, Condé turns bitterly from the pair. “Don’t listen to her, Sire!”

“Why not?”

Condé drags him to the corner of the room.“Remember what I told you?” he hisses. “That she is as dangerous as the rest of them. Perhaps the most perilous of all, for all her allure. You are making a big mistake if you trust her, Henri.”

“What have got against me?” Margot challenges him, still clinging to her husband. “What have I ever done to you personally, Monsieur de Condé?”

He shrinks under her scrutiny, like a worm under a magnifying glass.

“Nothing. Exactly. It’s just your prejudice against my family and against my faith that leads you to try and turn my husband against me.”

He’s stung by her accusation. “You’re trying to tell me that your mother-“

“My mother has never given a damn about me! If you knew me better you would realise that. But you have already made up your own mind.”

Margot's eyes are bright. Sir Francis looks at her with admiration. She seems to stand straighter, chin up like the queen that she was born to be. The giddy girl with laughing eyes who went out into the city, slept with complete strangers for fun and acted outrageously for sheer attention has disappeared.

"What can you do against your family?" Henri says wearily. "They hold our lives in their hands and so far they feel no compunction about spilling blood, even of relatives. We are living on borrowed time, both of us."

"Are you giving up on me? On us?" she says fiercely. "I am your wife, Henri!”

"Against your will! You made that quite clear. Did you plan to have de Guise after you'd done your duty and married me for peace?"

She flinches at the slur to her character. Sir Francis observes with a burst of understanding that for all her faults, and she has many, that is a step too far.

“-For better or for worse. Whatever happens to you, affects me. I do not promise we'll win. But we'll give it a damned good try. Together. What do I care for de Guise?"

“You do not love him?”

”He has blood on his hands, my Lord.” She says simply, as if that was an end to it.

“The whole country talks of your scandalous love affair with him. How you begged the King and your mother to let you marry him.”

“I don’t deny I dallied with him. But it was never him-”

Henri is astounded. “What? You have to be jesting.”

Margot looks down, her voice low as she admits the truth. “I never even slept with him. We fooled around but that’s it. Nothing else.”

Everyone knows about Margot and de Guise. Now she is telling him that she didn’t want him? That there was someone else? Even more shockingly that she hadn’t been sleeping with him at all?

“I don’t understand. You pleaded with your mother to let you marry him. Catherine treated you most brutally until you gave him up-“

“Because he is of noble birth. I would not be shaming my royal blood by a union with him. I knew there was no chance of my marrying a commoner, so he was the best option.”

Henri is intrigued. Margot sounds almost wistful. There was someone who was a commoner? Someone she loved and desired but knew from the start it was hopeless. Who could he be? This mysterious rival for her heart Nançay mentioned obliquely? I don’t know this woman he thinks, and she is my wife. What myriad secrets does she keep behind that flawless porcelain mask?

"Why? You are one of them? What do you care about me, when your mother-"

Margot is truly angry. "I'm not my mother, Henri! Haven't you realised that? Things have changed, and we must change with them or get burnt by the flames. I beg you; abjure your religion, if that’s what Charles and Mother want. Turn Catholic, for a time.”

Henri is surprised by her advice. “Abjure my faith? You advise me to do that, Margot? To take on the Papist faith?”

She is deadly serious. “Yes, Henri.”

“You cannot be serious, you don’t understand-“

“If I have ever been serious about anything in my entire life, this is it.”

He’s wary, watching her as if she is going to turn on him. As if he fears Catherine is setting a terrible trap through her daughter to ensnare him.“What kind of monarch would I be if I compromised my honour to save my miserable hide? Who would believe my word ever again?”

“One that still lives to fight another day.” She says bluntly.

He blinks at the sound of her fist hitting the table.“You want me to stand in front of my people and lie?” he asks, astounded at her directness. The sheer steely will suddenly revealed.

“Tell them I begged you to do it. I twisted you round my little finger. Seduced you to my will using my body. I’m sure every man in France will believe it. Let them revile me as the Whore of Babylon. They do already. I know what the Huguenots call me, what they whisper in lustful tones as I pass. De Guise’s concubine, the whore of France-”

“Margot, you mustn’t say such things-” Sir Francis can’t help but be appalled by the cynicism in her voice as she talks of their opinion dispassionately. Nate’s words come back to his mind. Does she value herself so little, despite the exalted position she was born to?

“Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it, Lord Walsingham? Monsieur de Condé thinks so. Armagnac was convinced I was nothing more than a Messalina reincarnated. Perhaps having a bad reputation is good for something?”

 

Henri is still watching Margot after the lords have departed and they are left on their own. She notices him staring at her.

“Is there something wrong, my Lord? You didn’t think I was too harsh to Monsieur de Condé?”

“You certainly gave him the edge of your tongue, my Lady.”

“I was heartily sick of him impugning my name. It’s about time he realised that he cannot slander me to my face and expect to get away with it.” She says coolly. “All your entourage had better learn that fact and quickly.”

“You must excuse Condé. His dislike of you isn’t personal, but based on religion. It is your family and what they stand for that he despises.”

He wonders if she is offended by his candid opinion. Maybe it was a little harsh on his part, although it is a little too late to take it back.

“His religion? Is that a suitable excuse? Would he like it if I said to him that he was an appalling hypocrite because I know he sleeps with members of my mother’s esquadron? And yet he damns me for seeking my pleasures where I may?”

Henri has a twinge of conscience as he think of his relationship with Charlotte de Sauve. Does she know that he is still seeing her on the sly?

He notices the way she demolishes his arguments, exposing their folly. Underneath that perfect porcelain mask, there is a fierce intelligence banked down and wasted in frivolous games and reckless thrill seeking.

He shakes his head. “Every time I think I have you pinned down, you always turn and surprise me.” He gives a grim laugh. “You know, I think I’m almost glad you are my wife, for you would be a formidable opponent if you were a man.”

He touches her forehead and she leans against him. They’re a strange mismatched couple: the rough country squire and the ice princess but right now all they have is each other in this dangerous gilded world.

“What a wasted opportunity. All that is required of you is beauty which you have in abundance but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. And yet when crossed your intelligence and charm could be as deadly as a razor in our defence.”

“I use the weapons I have to the best of my ability. I can do no more and no less.”

He believes it as well.“There is something you could do for me, my little precieuse.” He says fondly, stroking the silk of her hair.

“What, Henri? You want me to help you?” she looks up at him. So hopeful and grateful it touches his heart.

“Of course-“ he says jocularly. “You’re my queen now. We are a partnership. Who else knows this court and its pitfalls better than you, it’s morning star?”

“A partnership-“ she echoes, liking the sound of it in her mouth.

“I want you to go to your friends. The English.”

“And do what?” she stiffens in his arms.

“I’m not asking you to betray them. I know you wouldn’t. It would offend your sense of honour. But if there’s anyone who can get access to your mother’s correspondence and get proof the massacre was planned in advance, it’s them and you can help them.”

Margot looks at her husband, a little unsure at his request.

“I have to see that justice is done in some small way. For the sake of those that died that terrible night. Help me Margot, help me bring those murderers to justice.”

He sees her hesitate and presses his advantage. “I have to do something, Margot. Something even a little to avenge my brothers in belief who died that night. You understand. We have to choose a side to help us survive. Lord Walsingham and his team are our best hope.”

She sighs, and Henri knows he’s managed to win her over and gain her trust. “If that is your will, Henri, I will go to them and ask them to help us.”

He kisses her on the temple, a brief affectionate press of the mouth against her skin. “Good girl.”


	25. Sir Francis Surprises Everyone

Sir Francis insists on an appointment with the Queen Mother. He’s not taking no for an answer, bugging her secretary and Maddalena until they give in and make the request to their mistress.

‘You wished to see me, Sir Francis. Maddalena told me it was urgent, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to fit you into my busy schedule. What can I do for you, Sir?’

‘I’m sure you will have time for me.’

‘Oh? Is this official business?’ she asks evenly. ‘You look so serious, Sir Francis, what is it? Take a seat please, Sir.’

‘You know about the terrible events of Saint Bartholomew’s Eve, Madame?’

‘It’s truly terrible. I cannot tell you how shocked I am by the events-’

Sir Francis cuts through her insincere patter like a sabre thrust. ‘You understand that in the circumstances I cannot in all conscience promote an alliance between our two countries. Not when so many Protestants have been slaughtered in cold blood, by members of this court.’

‘Members of this court? You think that they were involved?’

Sir Francis laughs mirthlessly. Is she really trying to pull that trick after all they endured that dreadful night? “I spent the entire night defending our Paris house against a bloodthirsty mob determined to slay every Protestant in Paris. I myself held a musket to repel them. So imagine my surprise and disgust when Monsieur de Nançay rides up and tells Monsieur de Guise that he has orders not to touch the Englishmen, and he is to stand down. I knew that something rotten was up.”

“I am so terribly sorry that you and your team felt under threat, Lord Walsingham.” She says, privately vowing to tear strips off de Guise when she next sees him. She gave him specific orders not to touch the Englishmen! And he went and flouted her anyway. If Nançay hadn’t ridden up and ordered him to stand down, who knows what international disaster could have occurred?

‘Would you still allege that the palace had nothing to do with the massacre? I heard Monsieur de Nançay say with my own ears that he had orders to spare us. Royal orders.’

‘Maybe Monsieur de Nançay misunderstood-‘ she prevaricates.

‘Somehow, I doubt it.’

‘You’d abandon our negotiations with England? When they are so advanced? Elizabeth and Alençon are on the verge of signing documents. It’s nearly a done deal-’ She coaxes him.

Sir Francis is not interested in her wiles and means business. On this, he is perfectly prepared to play hard ball. ‘Right now, I and Lord Burghley are of one mind that diplomatic relations with France should be abandoned with immediate effect. I, my wife and my loyal team should leave on the next boat.’

Catherine attempts to call his bluff. ‘You are threatening to declare war on us? Is that what you’re trying to say? Sir Francis, I’m disappointed in you!’

“Do you know what Lord Burghley and my mistress think, your Grace?” He takes a letter from his pocket and reads it out to her. “If I may without presumption or offence say my opinion, considering how things presently stand, I think less peril to live with them as enemies than as friends. You must pull your men out and swiftly. I would not risk them in that viper-pit for all the world. I leave it to your honours now to judge what account you may make of the amity of this crown- ' He shrugs self-deprecatingly but there’s a hard glint in his eye that means business. “My mistress’s words quoted verbatim, I’m afraid.”

“You would withhold your support? Leave us to the mercy of Spain?” Catherine doesn’t hide the amazement in her voice. “When we have shown you and your team so many examples of our good favour?”

“You must understand the severity of public opinion now that the tale of the massacre has reached my home. If the alliance went ahead I could not guarantee the Duc’s safety. You are his mother. You would not want him to suffer such a fate-”

“They wouldn’t dare touch him! He is my son. He is of royal blood-”

Sir Francis interrupts her with a calculated brutality. “Your Grace, do you remember Anne Boleyn? Katherine Howard?”

She blinks, taken aback by his vehemence. ‘That cannot happen. It is predicted. All four of my sons will be kings-‘

Sir Francis knows of her superstitious addiction to horoscopes and predictions.

“There is no way Alençon will be King of England with this hanging over his head, prediction or not. The Ruggieri lied to you if they said that was the case.”

‘May I be candid with you, Sir Francis? I talk thus because I like you. You must realise this country has been riven by civil war for many years. We have little money and are heavily in debt, despite the lavish display you have witnessed at our court. We have suffered many losses over the years, of great men and women who could have steered this country forward to a bright new age. Men like Monsieur de Guise’s late father, Jeanne d’Albret and Coligny. I am the only one left, and my time is running out. I am too old and weak-‘

Sir Francis wonders at her hypocrisy. He knows for a fact that each name she’s mentioned died on her orders.

‘And my son, God bless him is weak. He suffers from his health. He is not the strong monarch this country craves, though he tries his best with the gifts God saw fit to give him.’

“Madame I know you were behind Coligny’s murder. Do you claim otherwise?”

She throws the stack of parchment onto the table in front of him. “Coligny was fomenting war in the Netherlands, taunting Spain. He endangered our state for his own ends. Do you see this, Lord Walsingham. Read it and see his guilt!”

Sir Francis scans the plans, carefully keeping his poker face on. If she’s read this in any depth then she knows all about Ferrando’s dealings with Coligny.

“See! This is the work of your noble friend.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. “You can see for yourself how he loved England! He would have thrown you to the wolves for his own benefit.”

“Madame,” Sir Francis replies, his voice a quiet rebuke, “He loved France and Charles which he venerated as his own flesh and blood. God forgive you for what you have done to your son.”

For a moment, Catherine looks as if he has slapped her.

“My son? He wanted to manipulate Charles to his own will. To make him nothing but his puppet. Coligny died because of his own treachery and arrogance.”

Sir Francis keeps his silence, allowing Catherine to damn herself with her own words.

“Religious tolerance doesn’t work. Did you see how the Huguenots menaced us in the streets? How Coligny’s brother brought his army to the gates of Paris in his arrogance? How was I meant to react? Wait until they dragged me and my family from our beds and put us to the stake? It was us, or them!”

“If the Huguenots were guilty of rebellion, they ought to have been punished by justice and not by murder. That was not your call to make, my lady.”

“You fail to understand the pressures on our throne-“

“You claim to love your son, and yet you have damned him.”

‘Is there nothing we can do to persuade you of our goodwill? We cannot afford to lose an ally’s goodwill like England. Not when Spain is so powerful and right on our doorstep. I’m sure you understand me, Sir Francis-‘

Sir Francis thinks for a moment, tries to see how he can manipulate this to benefit him and the team. He’s seen the correspondence between her and the Duke of Alba. He knows her true opinion of the massacre and seen that isolated by the brutality of the massacre she is willing to do anything to counter the bad opinion of Europe.

‘The world needs to see that you want justice for the murders of those Protestants. That you will not have religious intolerance in your realm. If they can believe these were the actions of disgruntled fanatics like de Guise and not royal policy-’

‘Not Royal policy-‘ she echoes, considering his words.

‘Exactly.’

Catherine thinks for a moment. ‘So if I were to ask you and your men as outsiders to investigate this terrible tragedy, do you that would be sufficient proof? To show the Calvinist world our contrition for this –‘ she searches for the correct word.

‘Genocide.’ Sir Francis says flatly, not mincing his words.

‘That’s a rather harsh word, sir for what happened.’ She retorts in a deceptively light tone.

He is unrepentant. ‘Harsh words for evil deeds, Madame.’

‘Of course, you would submit your reports to me for approval-‘ she suggests after a pause as she takes control of the conversation once more.

Sir Francis is alert. The last thing he wants is for the team to be neutered just when they have gained unprecedented powers to get to the bottom of the cases.

‘Approval, your Majesty?’ he asks politely pretending to misunderstand her.

‘You would keep me updating on your findings. Perhaps I could help you with information, a certain amount of funding could be found. I know we are not rich at the moment, but I’m sure some arrangement could be come to.’

When Sir Francis comes out of the meeting, he has a grim smile on his lips.

 

‘Ray?’

‘Yes, Lord Walsingham?’

‘Meeting for the entire team. My room. Eight o’ clock.’ He sweeps past, seemingly making his way to a meeting of the council.

Ray checks his pocket after his boss has left. There’s a folded note on a bit of vellum, with one line on it. Two phrases.

 

**She agreed. It’s on.**


	26. Margot proves her worth

Margot is waiting for him in his room when he gets in. He’s not expecting her to have left the palace and come searching for him.

‘My Lady-‘ he starts.

‘Sit down, Nate. We need to talk. Come in, all of you. This concerns you all too.’

The team swop looks as they filter into the room. What does the princess want? She greets them all pleasantly enough, but it’s very businesslike, very unlike her manner with them previously. No flirting. No antagonism.

‘What’s this all about, my lady?’ asks Walt. ‘Why did you want to see us all?’

‘Are you or are you not a spy for Lord Walsingham?’ she says bluntly to Nate.

Nate’s gone pale.

‘How long have you known?’ he says guardedly, never taking his eyes away from her face.

‘Years.’

‘And you never said a word-‘

Margot looks outraged at the thought. ‘Why should I say a word? You are my best friend. We grew up together. ‘ She looks him straight in the eye. ‘You know how I feel about you.’

Nate catches Brad’s eye and blushes.

‘You want access to certain documents from my mother’s office. Files that no one else knows about. I can get you that access.’

‘What documents?’ Sir Francis asks shrewd as ever.

‘My mother’s private correspondence with the Duke of Alba, she has been in close contact secretly for some time. She met with him in Bayonne when we were on our great Progress there.’  
“Your mother’s letters? How on earth are we going to get to them? We can hardly pick the lock and enter-”

“I brought you all a sample. Just in case you had trouble believing me.” She lifts her skirt to the knee. There’s a scroll of vellum tied to the knee with a lace and ribbon garter.

“I think you’ll find the content very interesting indeed, Sir Francis.”

Sir Francis quickly scans the contents of the letter. It’s every bit as explosive as she promised. The whole issue is blown wide open now.

“Brad-“

Brad looks over his shoulder at the letter.

My dear Duca,  
I would like to reassure your master that things are not what they seem. I ask him to forbear unleashing his hostility and his superior forces on us until I have had the opportunity to explain.  
My son is convinced that he should help the rebels in the Netherlands. Despite my advice he is backing the wrong cause. It seems Coligny has a far greater grip on him than at first appears. He has convinced the king this is the policy we should pursue.  
I have tried everything in my power to dissuade him from this suicidal stance.  
I promise that when the time is right. I shall offer you Coligny’s head, nay if all goes to plan you may find I can grant your master more heretic scalps. All I ask is a little indulgence and patience.  
Your servant  
Catherine.  


“Premeditated. It was all premeditated. Now do you see what we are up against? She is the spider in the middle of the web. The Queen Mother had us all playing her game, dancing to her tune. None of us are safe!”

“How would we get to this fabled correspondence? You claim there’s more of the same?”

Margot leans forward. “We break into her office and steal the files we need.” She slowly withdraws a small iron key from her sleeve. It lies on her palm. “I stole this and had a secret copy cut many years ago. No one knows of this key’s existence. Not even Maddalena. This little iron key is worth a king’s ransom.” She bestows her sweetest smile on Sir Francis and the rest of the team as she gives the coup de grace. “I hope that you valiant and noble men will use it for good, won’t you?”

‘What do you think of her offer?’ Sir Francis asks as he confers with his team leader.

Brad is adamant. ‘We can’t trust her.’

‘She’s offering us access to Catherine’s private correspondence. This is the goddamn mother lode.’ Ray says excitedly.

‘And she’s willing to keep Nate’s secret. Kept it for years, even from him.’ Walt adds.

The irony is that Brad was convinced for some time, she was working for her mother. This was worse, far worse. Margot is actively rebelling against her. No wonder Nate despaired of the risks this girl takes on a regular basis.

“But why? That’s the question we have to ask ourselves. Is it a trap? Is she playing a dangerous game with us for her own amusement?”

‘There’s no way she’d put Nate in danger. Not the way she feels about him.’ Ray remarks with a generous dash of irony. “Haven’t you noticed?”

Brad has noticed that, and the blush. It hardly pleases him.

‘What if she just wants to help us?’ Trombley says, surprising everyone.

They turn to stare at him.

‘Well, I don’t know. She might-‘

‘We still haven’t answered the question: why? Why would she be so prepared to betray her mother’s secrets to us?’ Brad frets.

“I still think we should consult with Henri de Navarre. He may have a better idea why she would do this . How far we can trust her.”

“Not one inch.” mutters Brad, most discontentedly. He can see he’s going to overruled again. With such sweet enticement how can an inveterate intriguer like Sir Francis resist the bait?

* * *

When they speak to Henri, he smiles. “I’ll say this for Margot, she doesn’t waste any time.” He remarks.

“You knew she was going to approach us?” Sir Francis asks curiously.

“I instructed her to. The lady was reluctant but she understands my need for justice. I can’t stand aside and watch my people suffer.”

“Well, if she is acting on your instruction-“ Sir Francis says rather dubiously.

“I don’t want her on the team.” Brad says. He doesn’t care if he sounds blunt.

“Lord Colbert!”

“I have to speak as I find. I don’t trust her.”

* * *

Margot opens the door and let them in."We have to be quick. I don't dare think of the consequences if we are caught in her office."

"Do you know where she keeps them?"

Margot taps lightly three times on the wood panelling on the wall. Her brow is furrowed in concentration as if she is trying to remember a pattern.

"That's it." she mutters to herself with a wry little smile.

The door creaks opens and a small cupboard is revealed. Margot withdraws another key from the drawer and slicks some oil on it before putting it in the lock.

The door opens slowly.

"Ingeniously made. I would have never known it was there if it hadn't been pointed out to me, you know."

Margot takes a leather folio and shoves it into Ray's hands. "This will do for now. We mustn't take too much otherwise she'll get suspicious if she checks."

"How often does she check her correspondence?" asks Brad.

"Often enough. We won't have access to this for very long, so we'll need to get this copied and translated as soon as possible, so we can return this."

"You know the cipher?"

"I know some of the cipher.” Margot corrects. “But my mother is no fool. She uses many ciphers to write to the Duke of Alba. I’m going to need all of Ray’s skills. You can do this, can’t you?"

Ray nods, but he seems confident. "It’s going to take a bit of time, I’m not going to lie, but it can be done. We'll start tackling the code when we get back."

Ray’s head pricks up as she's heard a distant sound.

"What did you hear, Ray?"

"We need to get the hell out of here.”

“It sounded like Maddalena. God help us all if she catches any of us here."

"Come on, you haven't got time!" Walt says from the outside. He’s standing guard and frankly the tension is getting to him, making him a little twitchy. "Get what you need and get the hell out of there!"

"He's right."

Margot walks to the other side of the room and taps twice on the carving. A secret door is revealed showing a passageway. "I don't like using mother's secret passageways but we mustn't be seen. Come-"

As she shuts the door, the passageway is plunged into pitch blackness.

"Come on, we can't risk a light!" Margot hisses. "Hold on to me, and pray we do not meet her coming the other way."

"She uses these clandestine paths through the palace?"

He can't see in the darkness, but he fancies that Margot nods. "One of the many ways she is able to appear secretly in many places. She does it so often, many believe she uses witchcraft."

Margot starts to walk, Ray's hand on her waist to keep them together. They travel in silence, keeping their ears honed for any sign that they are not alone.

Brad doesn't even want to think of how much trouble they would be if Catherine found them walking in her secret passages, laden with classified information. This idea of Margot was audacious but bold. No wonder Nate despairs of the risks she takes.

"Here’s one of the exit points-" she breathes. Her hand taps on the wall. Brad notices a crack of light. "I'd better check the coast is clear, just in case.” she applies her eye to the crack.

"What do you see?"

"Shush."

 

She taps on Nate's door. Brad's notices that she always seems to use the same rhythm, subtly disguised. It must be some secret code devised between them in their youth. He tries not to think too hard about her knocking on his door for sex as he suspects she does quite regularly.

Nate opens the door. "Get in-" he hisses. “Sir Francis has been fretting ever since you missed the deadline. We thought-“

“Everything’s fine. We had to use the secret passages. Very dark and creepy. This is like a goddamn rabbit warren behind the scenes. No wonder Catherine loves it.”

 

Sir Francis sits at the desk, ready to start. "You made it. Good. Let's see what you managed to come up with."

Ray dumps the vellum onto the desk. “We’re going to have to put these in some kind of order. We couldn’t take all the letters otherwise we arouse too much suspicion.”

"We're going to have to have the lady's help to break the code. She's going to need to have some excuse to be in our company privately until we can crack the cipher." Sir Francis says. “That is if you are willing my lady, you have already risked a great deal on our behalf.”

Margot considers the problem. “I could always pretend that I'm rekindling my fling with Walt... That way no one will be surprised if I am in your company." The corner of her mouth curves up ironically. “They’ll just assume I couldn’t get enough of his body.”

 _Oh not again!_ thinks Walt. One stint of being a royal lover was more than enough.

“Do we have to go through all that again?” he groans. “Really?”

"Do you want this mystery solved or not, Lord Hasser?” asks Sir Francis testily. "Well then, you're just going to have to lump it for a while. Do you think we'd get away with it?"

Margot considers Sir Francis’s question, her head cocked to one side."If we laid the ground work. I'll flirt with you at reception; give 'em something to tattle about. Don’t worry, Walt it won’t be for long.”

* * *

That night Margot knocks on the door, ready to work with Ray on breaking her mother’s codes.

Ray rubs his eyes as he works by the flame of the candle. They’ve been working for a long time and fatigue is starting to set in.

“How are you getting on, Person?” ask Sir Francis.

“It’s intense work. Sir, there’s levels and levels of this stuff. We’re going to be here for a while with this, sorry.”

“Give yourself a break, Ray. You’re starting to look a little crazy eyed-“

“I think I’ve got most of the code pegged, but there’s sections with a whole load of symbols. I’m hitting a wall.”

Margot reaches out from the other chair. “Symbols? Let me have a look.”

She scans the page, frowning.

“D’ye want more candles?”

She nods. “Please, my eyes aren’t as sharp as Ray’s, I think.”

Sir Francis lights another couple of candles and puts them in the sconce.

Margot directs her full attention to the pages in front of her, frowning as an idea lodges itself in her brain.

“Give me some parchment and some ink. I need to work something out.”

She scribbles frantically for nearly half an hour, scribbling and crossing out.

“What have you found?” asks Walt.

“Shush, I’m concentrating. I’m trying to remember something. Something important. Something we discovered at Chambord.”

Nate pricks up his ears, “Chambord?”

He leans over her scribbles. Finger running underneath her symbols with rudimentary words sketched out.

“Brad, come here. You have to read this.”

Brad comes over reluctantly, careful to avoid interacting with Margot if he can help it. Things are still tense between them and right now he doesn’t have time for it. They all have work to do. He’s going to have to be professional and put it behind him.

She hands the parchment to Ray. “Is this what the message looks like? Is this a good copy? You’re the expert here.”

Ray examines it. She’s made a credible attempt at clarifying the code, even making the symbols clearer. Margot is no trained codebreaker, but she’s managed to give him more than enough context to go on with.

“Well, I’ll be damned-“ Ray gives a low whistle as the mystery is revealed. “It’s Kabbalah, she’s into Kabbalah. She uses the symbols for the messages and you’ve both just managed to give me the code partly through deduction and partly by memory.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get to work!” Sir Francis says, revitalised by the break through.

“What happened at Chambord?” asks Ray as curious as ever.

“Chambord?”

“You mentioned something happened at Chambord. What was it, if I may ask?”

Nate and Margot exchange a horrified glance. She unsuccessfully tries to suppress her revulsion at the memory. Nate actually looks nauseated by it.

“Trust me, you really don’t want to know.”

 

 

“This one references Mary Stuart. Something is definitely up.”

“What’s this?” Sir Francis says sharply, coming straight over.

“Let’s just say the plot thickens quite admirably. We had no idea of just how deep the rabbit hole went when we brought in Funteyn for questioning.”

“What do we already know about the Catholic League and their activities?”

“Brad overheard Anjou receiving correspondence from the Vatican. Possibly funding for their activities.”

“Do you think they are funding the poison?”

“There is a very strong possibility of that, but we need proof.”

“How are we going to obtain this proof? They’re not going to admit their guilt if we ask them.”

“We have to befriend the weakest link and exploit him.” Nate says casually.

“Is there a weak link in the Catholic League we know about? Nate-“

Nate has a grim little smile on his face. Brad looks at him as he leans forwards, flicking through his filed dispatches. He really has been born to this. Secrets and deception, lies and thievery. Lord Ferrando and Walsingham did do their work well.

“Yes, there is as it happens, and luckily we already know him well.”

“Who is he, and how can we exploit him?” asks Sir Francis keenly.

“Henri, Chevalier d’ Angoulême. He’s the natural son of Henri II and Lady Mary Fleming. A crony of Anjou and de Guise, though the Queen Mother has never forgiven him his birth.”

“Your illegitimate half-brother...” Sir Francis muses to Margot, who’s face has gone pale in the firelight. “How intriguing.”

“He’s no half-brother of mine.” She says in a flat voice that brooks no further discussion.

 

Margot insists on speaking with Nate privately.

Brad looks at her with a dubious frown not trusting that she won't try her wiles on Nate, but she will not take no for an answer.

"Nate, we need to talk. Outside. Please.” She hisses.

Brad notices her whisper and he tenses up, watching Nate to see what he will do.

He feels the brush of Nate's hand against his and it's all he can do not to shake him off. He has to stop himself thinking the worst. Nate wants to be with him. At some point he’s going to have to take it on trust that he’s given Margot up for good.

I knew it. I knew that woman would try and sink her claws back into him again. Why won't she ever let him go? How much more clearer does he have to be that it's over between them?

“I won't be long, Brad, I promise-" he mouths. “I just have to try and reassure her.”

Brad is sorely tempted to follow them to the corridor, but he forces himself to stay in his seat. What kind of message is he sending if he has to follow Nate around whenever Margot is around. He might as well announce it in front of the entire group. I don't trust Nate and the princess.

 

Nate gets out of the room and leans against the door.

"What do you want, my lady?" Nate says wearily.

"Please tell me you're not going to tangle with d'Angouleme? Nate?"

He looks down at her blanched worried face, and realises why she's causing a fuss.

“It's for the team." He tells her, trying to impart some comfort.

"Why can't they ask someone else to do this? Why you?"

”I don't have a choice. Sir Francis wants me to use my contacts at court to get to d'Angouleme. He's the weakest link. We need that proof that Anjou is plotting against our queen and your brother."

”He can't force you, Nate. Refuse to do it."

“You know I can’t do that, my lady.”

He notices she is very agitated. Biting her lip until it bleeds. Almost before he realises what he is doing, he wipes the blood from her lip. Her tongue gently touches his thumb in a shy little caress, and he pulls it away, not wishing to get tempted by her tiny gesture. It never took very much to spark their passion, and he can't allow himself to fall under her spell.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea for us to see one another alone. He thinks, remembering that day in the alcove where their fierce argument turned into illicit passion. Maybe I'm still struggling to be detached from her. We were together for a long time. It's understandable.

"Daisy, what is it? Why are you so agitated?"

"You're taking a terrible risk. How can Sir Francis ask to risk so much? You must refuse, Nate. Please-"

He sees the truth of it.

”You're afraid for me.”

”Of course I'm afraid! I know what he and Anjou are capable of. We both do. D' Angouleme is wicked." She catches his hand in between hers. "Oh please Nate, don't do anything reckless!"

He has to admit that he can understand her fears.

“I promise I'll be careful."

"Thank you." She turns to go, a sad rueful smile curving the corner of her lush pink mouth. “I must leave. I don't think that Lord Colbert wants me anywhere near you.”

Nate happens to know that this is true, but there's no need to rub the fact in her face.

“How are you coping, my lady?" he asks her, his voice gentle. He doesn't say: Without me.

She presses her lips together. Nate notices the tears starting to well in her eyes. She breathes deeply trying to control herself, retain the poised mask, but she's never been successful doing that with him. He knows her too well for her to deceive him.

"I'm coping. I have to. And you're happy? With Lord Colbert? He treats you well?"

He nods, honouring her with the truth."Yes."

She pulls away from him going back into the room with the rest of the team. She never reproached him publicly not after that night, but Nate can't help feeling bad about the entire situation. He feels nothing but pure guilt for his leaving her at the palace.

The facts are as plain as day in front of him. She needs him, far more than he ever needed her and without his steadying influence, his unspoken devotion she's a rudderless ship with no one at the tiller.

 

Brad doesn’t want to press Nate, but the worry’s there, plain on his face. He’s wrestling with the need to trust Nate and his disquiet that Margot has managed to weave her spell on him. He know that he has feelings for him, but they were together for a long time. It’s not going to be easy for him to break the bonds and move on, not when they have been so intimate physically and emotionally.

“Brad?”

He doesn’t answer.

Nate watches him, seeing the tension in his body. He believes that I would be drawn back into Margot’s sensual web.

“Do you want to talk about this? What did Margot want?”

“She’s afraid.”

“Why is she so scared of d’Angouleme?”

Nate keeps silent, merely looking at Brad.

“This is one of those thing you can’t talk about, isn’t it?”

“You have to trust me.” Nate says. “Do you trust me, Brad?”

“I have changed my life for you. Do you really think I would throw it away for no reason?”

* * *

"You have proof that my brother is involved in this treachery against me?" Charles asks.

Brad is prepared for this eventuality. "Ray, could you hand over the scrolls we appropriated to his Majesty?"

"Here, Your Grace. "

"Where did you get these from?"

They look at Sir Francis, clearly asking the same thing: Should we reveal where we got these from?

He shrugs, as if to say to the team: we seem to be working for him now, go with it.

“These were taken from the Chevalier d’ Angoulême’s chambers. Ray Person, Nate Fick and Lord Hasser have been working on him to gain his trust. We stole these from his chambers and had these copied a few days ago. We even had them verified just in case.”

Charles scans the letters intently, a smile of malice staring to spread over his face. "This is perfect." he says silkily. “Well done, Lord Colbert. I must heartily congratulate you and your team.”

"Perfect, Sire?"

"For years I 've been trying to find some proof to get rid of Anjou at last. He is dangerous and ambitious. Ever since I inherited the throne at the age of 10, he resented me for being just one year older. And my mother fed his spite, seeking to pit us against the other. You have done what my own agents have failed to do for seven years, if not more. You have given me the weapon to get rid of my brother at last!"

"What are you going to do with the evidence, Sire?" Brad says, his voice as even as ever, little betraying the misgiving inside.

"I'm going to use it to safeguard my throne, Lord Colbert."


	27. A Royal Secret Unveiled

‘How on Earth did you manage to get Catherine to recruit us to investigate the murders, Sir Francis? What sleight of hand did you employ?’ Brad asks as the meeting gets underway. The team are at round the table each taking notes as they tease out the motivations for Catherine's change of heart and the plot she has ensnared them in. 

Sir Francis shrugs, draining his goblet of wine. ‘It seems Catherine is keen to distance herself from the genocide. She wishes to exonerate herself.’

They look at each other, each thinking the same thought as they eat and plan: _But we all know she was the ringleader. She is as guilty as sin!_

"So why?- Walt asks. "Why commit such a crime and then deny everything.

‘Presumably to salvage the deal with Elizabeth and Alençon.’ Brad cannot help being a bit cynical about all of this. "Perhaps the Queen-Mother did not realise exactly how her night's work would be received by the public. All right thinking men are disgusted by the wholesale murder of the Huguenots."

"She think if this unpleasantness is swept firmly under the carpet, that the alliance between Alençon and our Queen can go ahead as planned.

‘How is that possible? We know that these were royal orders. We could work out as much when Nançay told de Guise to stand down.’

‘I can’t help but think we are approaching this all wrong. We have to go back to the beginning. Back to why Jeanne died.’

‘We can’t even prove that she was poisoned for sure. The official verdict is pleurisy. Can we?’

Sir Francis breaks his silence. ‘On the contrary we can now, I believe. Padre Tolomeo was investigating it before he was murdered. He did an analysis of the doeskin gloves which are the suspected cause of death.’

Brad remembers the ribbon and Padre Tolomeo's fear as he revealed the secret of the poison all those weeks ago. The deadly yet innocuous weapon Rene had developed for her. ‘They were impregnated with poison. Don’t touch it! I recollect what Padre Tolomeo told me the first time about the ribbon.’

"Ribbon?"

‘It was undetectable to the eye, but he managed to impregnate them with enough poison to kill.’

‘Who would invent such a thing?’ Walt asks, shock and disgust plain on his young face.

‘Padre Tolomeo was quite evasive, but he told me in confidence it was an invention of René the Florentine.’ Sir Francis says.‘The royal perfumer.’ he lets that sink in for a moment.

‘Was he working under Catherine’s instruction?’ Ray asks his boss.

Sir Francis sighs, “There’s every possibility that is the case.”

‘I thought Jeanne approved of peace and the union between their children.’

‘Something happened to make her change her mind, and vehemently. But what?’

* * *

** 1569 **

She stares out of the window taking no joy in her surroundings. The needlework lies idle in her lap as she sits lost in her own thoughts.

"My lady?" Henriette says gently taking away her tapestry frame and putting it away neatly.

Margot doesn't answer, merely looks at her with huge blank unseeing eyes.

“Let me settle you in bed, Madame.” Henriette soothes her mistress, alarmed by the extent of her devastation. “A sweet hot posset, some soothing music, maybe I’ll read to you from one of your books, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No music.” Margot says in a faint voice scratchy with misuse, shaking her head.

She understands all too well with a surge of pity for the girl, realising her current aversion for music has a very real root. “It reminds you of him too much?”

When Margot nods, Henriette forgets that her mistress is a princess, a daughter and sister of kings. She takes the girl into her arms and if the bosom of her fine grey velvet dress becomes damp with her tears, she ignores it for her mistress’s sake.

“Bring him back to me. Please.” Margot says brokenly against her damp skin. “He’s the only one who ever loved me, for myself.” 

* * *

May I speak to his Majesty?" Henriette asks as she accosts La Rochefoucauld in the corridor.

"What do you want with him?" he looks down his nose at her wild red spirals of hair spilling profusely from it’s silver and pearl netted confines, assuming her to be frivolous and giddy, scarcely worthy of a great man like his’s notice. “Charles is busy and has a great many demands on his time. If this is some petty squabble between the Princesse’s ladies or some matter of advancement-”

Henriette stands her ground, chin sticking out in a most pugnacious fashion. "Tell him it's about his sister. It's urgent."

“His sister? The Lady Marguerite?” Le Rochefoucauld blinks, unsure of what to do in the face of this new information.

“Just tell him she needs him. If you have any mercy in your heart, just tell him that.”

"How can I help you?" Charles asks kindly from behind his messy desk. He has his dog draped over his feet, another growling with pleasure as he scratches it's ears. "I know you care for my dear sister as if she were your own." His voice falls as if he is afraid of being overheard even here in his own office with the door closed. "How is she?"

"Sire-" Henriette’s dark eyes fill with tears.

Charles hurriedly pulls out a cambric handkerchief and pushes it across the table at her. "There, there, please don't start crying on me, Madame de Nevers!"

It takes a while for her to gain her self possession, gulping and sniffling like a child in front of her king, no less. But Henriette doesn’t care about a moment’s humiliation. He must understand the severity of the situation. She gives a most unladylike blow of her little freckled nose.

"I'm worried about her, your Grace. She hasn't been the same since the operation. Paré and I battled to keep her alive, but it's like she's lost all will to live. She's weak, she can't eat, can't sleep. I don't want to lose my dearest friend, but I'm scared, Sire-"

“What do you want me to do, Madame de Nevers?” Charles asks her, most perplexed by her emotion.

She takes a deep breath and prepares to play her stake. “Please, write to Nate and order him to return to court. She is miserable without him. Defy your mother and reunite them. Please, Sire-”

“Nathaniel? This is about Nathaniel Fick?”

Henriette stares at him. _Does he have no idea of what has been going on? Or has he been wilfully blind? Coligny convinced him that his relationship with Margot was a mortal sin and Charles had tearfully repented of his youthful lust and folly. Couldn’t he see what Anjou was doing to her?_

She remembers the sight of her mistress on the stairs, her green velvet bodice ripped to shreds and Anjou’s leering face. Catherine’s cold, cruel words to her daughter and the deadened misery on Margot’s face as she told her maid to go.

“You need to make it clear to Anjou he can’t keep doing this to her. Tell him to find another lover and leave her alone. He must stop. Enough is enough-“

Charles frets. Henriette notices his knuckles clenched white around his quill. “How am I meant to stop him, Madame de Nevers? Alexandre Edouard has done exactly as he’s pleased ever since he was a boy. I cannot control him, and my mother backs him to the hilt, whatever he does.”

“Please, Sire. You can do this, I know you can,” She urges him, her dark knowing eyes welling with tears, “You are king, and you care for your sister. She has no one to defend and care for her except for him.”

“He loves her?”

“My Lord, I think they’ve always loved each other.” She says, pensive, “It broke her heart when your mother banished him. And we both know why. So your brother Anjou would have free reign to force her again and again.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“At least go and see her for yourself. You haven’t since the scandal broke.”

“Coligny told me to keep away.” He cries out rather defensively. An embarrassed flush creeps up his thin neck, staining his cheeks. “He told me I must not put myself back in the way of temptation.”

“Please, Sire. I’m not saying the great man was wrong-“ she forces herself to say even though she rankles to think of that mean spirited sanctimonious bastard ordering Charles to turn from his sister right when she needed him. “It would mean the world to her if you just went to see her for yourself.”

She doesn’t know whether she’s managed to get through to him but she had to try.

* * *

When Charles goes to see his sister, he is shocked by the change in her. All the colour and liveliness in her face has drained away, leaving a pale porcelain mask devoid of emotion. “You don’t believe that I can do this. That I want to make things right. Do you really believe that I could be that cruel?”

She shakes her head, finally allowing him to put his arms round her.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s in your heart. Nothing you say is wrong, Margot. I have been so blind, but help me to see the truth. Your truth.”

“I don’t believe in anything any more. I am nothing but a blank vessel. It’s safer. That way nothing can hurt me. When he touches me, when he degrades me, I think of nothing. Because if I think about it too deeply, if I allow myself to remember it completely, I would sink into utmost despair.”

The frozen mask is disintegrating and Charles has to face responsibility for the darkest side of himself.

“The black wave is waiting for me, ever closer. I know I must fight it, but sometimes I’m afraid I no longer have the strength.”

He looks at her haunted eyes. Margot has looked into the abyss. How can she not hate him for what he did to her? The sins he made her commit in her innocence and youth?

“Why did you turn away from me? When I needed you? Is it because I gave you what you wanted. I didn’t refuse you?”

Remorse makes the tears trickle from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry dearest sister. I ruined you. My love-“

“Do you still love me?” she asks him in a small desolate voice, like a betrayed child.

“Of course. How could you ever doubt how I feel, ma soeur?”

He pulls her close and kisses her with a desperate illicit passion. She stiffens in his arms, terror in her eyes.

“I’m terrified of how much I want you still, but -”

“But you know we can’t, we just can’t.” she shakes her head, pushing him away gently.

With an effort, he makes himself turn from her, veering from the lure of sin barely hidden, “Coligny was right. I must renounce you for both our sakes. I have corrupted you enough-“

Her fair face crumples in anguish, as the tears spill from her eyes, "Why did you abandon me, Charlot?”

That sentence shatters his heart. He never thought of the consequences of obeying Coligny’s advice, only that he must save himself from mortal sin and take himself far from temptation.

“You think that I don’t care for you? Margot, no! Look at me, mon ange.” He urges. His eyesight is blurred with hot sticky tears as he clasps her cold hand within his. “You know what we did...what I made you do was wrong?”

“You needed me, Charles-“ she says with a simplicity that breaks his heart anew, for he see she has such faith in him. Faith he doesn’t deserve. “You came to me because you needed me. How can that be wrong?”

* * *

Charles orders Anjou into his study. From the wording of the missive which is formal in the extreme, he doesn’t dare to defy his royal brother who seems more furious with him than usual.

Catherine didn’t seem to know what the matter was, merely counselling him to meet with and find out the facts and consult with her later.

“You wished to see me, My lord?” he says.

Charles raises his head and gives him a look of sheer disgust. It rankles, especially as Alexandre knows it’s naked jealousy which is at the heart of Charles’s deadly hatred.

_Because I am superior to him in every single way. I am stronger, a better leader, more educated, and not half mad with fancies. Because Maman loves me best! I led your armies to grand victories at Jarnac and Montrecoeur while you were blubbing behind Maman’s skirts!_

_If only you had done the decent honourable thing and died after Francis. If only you hadn’t been born, always standing in my light. Taking the throne even you snivelled a thousand times you didn’t want it. Even with Margot. If you hadn’t got there first with your sly infiltration of her bed. Telling her you couldn’t sleep without her. Preying on the girl. Seducing her when she was too young and trusting to resist you. I merely followed in your illustrious footsteps. So why does that make me the sinner?_

 

“You’re late.” Charles says as soon as he is ushered into his presence.

“What did you wish to lecture me about now, brother?” Anjou says in an affectedly bored voice calculated to irritate and provoke Charles.

“I have heard many complaints about your behaviour, Alexandre? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Complaints?” he asks, his fine dark eyes widening in perfect innocence.

“Do not pretend you know nothing about which I speak. I would not have you insult my intelligence, brother!”

“You condemn me for doing something that you are just as guilty of! Hypocrite!”

Charles bangs his fist on the table, his golden eyes looking wild and almost bloodshot. He looks as if he’s five seconds from rising from his desk and striking him. “Be careful of how you speak to me, my lord.” He growls.

“Why, because I look you in the eye and tell you the truth, brother? You are just as guilty as I. More so, in fact for I didn’t start this. You did.”

“I?” Charles’s voice squeaks unpleasantly in rage. His sharp cheekbones are splashed red with anger.

“Who took her virginity? For I assure you, she was certainly no maid by the time I got to her.”

“You will leave Marguerite alone. Go and find some other mignon to sate your unnatural lusts. She is out of bounds to you now and forever!”

“And what if I don’t?” Anjou mocked, enjoying his brother’s anger like fine wine.

Charles lunges across the desk and seizes him by the throat. By the glint of mad fury in those striking eyes, Anjou has no doubt that Charles is livid and perfectly capable of murder.

“Do you believe I jest, Alexandre?” his voice is low and dangerous.

“No, Sire.” He grits out, choking on his brother’s stranglehold.

“If Marguerite ever complains that you even look at her in a way that displeases her, I will throw you into one of our deepest darkest oubliettes and I will throw away the key. Do not think to test me, mon frére.” Charles’s tone is cold and hard. Privately Alexandre is shocked that behind the weak affable demeanour, the king has such steel in his soul. 

Anjou goes white at his brother’s threat. He has no doubt that Charles means every word he says. “You wouldn’t dare! Maman wouldn’t let you! I am the favoured one!”

“Get out of my sight before I do something I will regret. I would not sully myself with your blood on my hands.”

“Monsieur le Roi-“ Anjou starts, his words respectful though there’s naked hatred in his heart.

“DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? GET OUT! GO!”

* * *

** 1572, present day **

Nate knows he is being foolish, but he doesn’t know whether he can find out the truth. The file lies on his desk, open, but unlooked at.

‘Can I come in?’ Brad’s voice is at the door.

‘Yes.’

‘Nate, is everything alright?’ Brad asks. His eyes stray to the file on the desk. He knows he would dearly like a crack at that manuscript, but at the moment he has to respect Evan’s and Nate’s wishes. When he’s ready, he’ll ask him about what was so explosive.

“I’m not sure that I really want to know the terrible secrets in the file. I know I’m being a blind idiot, but that’s the truth. Do you think that I’m weak? For not wanting to know?”

Nate looks at him with such trust, such candidness that he doesn’t have the heart to be petty about this, it’s too important to Nate.

Dear Jeanne,  
I write to you with terrible news, but this is something I have a duty to tell you. It would be remiss if having learned this I kept it to myself.  
Did you never wonder why Catherine was so keen on giving you her daughter to cement the peace? Why an undeniable beauty that was sought after by King Sebastian of Portugal and King Rudolf of Hungary still remains unmarried at the age of eighteen? Even Phillip of Spain wanted her for his son Carlos. All extremely great and advantageous matches, I sure you’ll agree. Why would Catherine be content with allying herself with Navarre, which for all its many charms is a humble yet happy land?  
You must know then, that His Majesty recently confided in me a disturbing secret about his relationship with his younger sister Margot. He confessed that it had gone past the regular bounds of propriety, in short that they had become lovers.  
He admitted his guilt with some tears of remorse and regret but swore that the relationship was over and he desired her no more. Of course I was shocked by this admission. Who would not be? I immediately made discreet enquiries into what was going on.  
What I found shocked and disgusted me. It seems her younger son; the Duc d'Anjou had a mind to take the girl and assaulted her. This was witnessed by a servant who was bribed into silence and sent away from court. Catherine knew about it, but made the inexplicable decision to cover up the illicit relationship. It appears she will deny her younger son nothing, not even her own daughter's body! Are there no depths of depravity to which this foul woman will not sink and drag her corrupted children with her?  
It then seems that the inevitable happened, and in order to prevent Margot's reputation and the entire Valois family being ruined, it was necessary to employ a surgeon and a midwife. I'm sure I have no need to explain why?  
Needless to say, it is highly unlikely that the girl will ever bear children.  
Imagine my horror when she proposed to cement peace by offering this girl as a bride for your son Henri. For the love of God, this cannot be allowed! A girl steeped in infamy and sin, stained with the most heinous of crimes. A girl incapable of bearing your son an heir to inherit the throne of Navarre! This is the bride Catherine proposes for Henri.  
You must stand firm, Jeanne. Tell Catherine that you will not accept her as your daughter in law and future Queen of Navarre.  
I live only to serve, and am sorry I must be the bearer of bad news  
Gaspard de Coligny 

Brad doesn’t say anything once he reads Coligny’s letter.

‘How did Evan get this?’ he asks.

Nate sighs. ‘He used to work in Catherine’s office as a scribe. We used to work together, with codes and files and things like that. Sir Francis and Lord Ferrando encouraged him to help me especially at the beginning when I was very young. He started gathering information for an exposé a few years ago before I left for Italy. When I returned, he left. He wouldn’t talk about it. Just said he was leaving the team, and there was something he had to do.”

Brad doesn’t know how Nate feels about the revelations. He would imagine that he would be devastated at finding out that his existence at the court and his relationship with the princess was based on a disgraceful lie. He’s willing to bet a fortune Margot hasn’t told him this. Much as they both claim that they tell each other everything. There are some things that if they came out would be far too damaging.

Dear Catherine,  
Thank you for your letter proposing to cement the alliance between Huguenot and Catholic. Your ever so generous wish to join your daughter Marguerite to my dear son Henri warms my heart and convinces me you want an end to the senseless bloodshed, and that the pernicious influence of the de Guise family over the crown has ended.  
Unfortunately, I have no such intention of allowing such a mésalliance to take place. I have it on good authority that Princess Marguerite is certainly no virgin, to put it bluntly. The list of her lovers includes such elevated and illustrious lords as the Duc de Guise, the Duc d' Anjou (!) and even the king himself (!) If indeed there are not more.  
Indeed, Catherine, was it not the case that she was forced to undergo an operation to prevent a scandal which would have damaged your family’s reputation beyond measure? Consequently, the girl is barren, and unlikely to bear Henri children.  
How did you ever think that this girl would be a suitable match for my Henri? That I would allow my son, crowned King of Navarre to marry a young woman steeped in vice and infamy? I absolutely refuse to give my consent and will take every precaution that my son will marry a more suitable candidate at the first opportunity!  
My advice to you is to send the girl into a convent of your faith, where she can expiate her sins in peace and solitude. As for your son I would suggest exile, but I know that will never happen since you favour him above all others. Indeed, it is my humble opinion that it is your craven and extravagant indulgence of this boy which has caused this unholy mess in the first place.  
I will not change my mind on this matter. That girl will marry my son over my dead body!

Yours  
Jeanne d’Albret, Reine de Navarre

* * *

1569

 

Henriette is concerned about her mistress Margot. Not a word from her at dinner which she picked at listlessly, pushing it round her plate as if to fool everyone she is actually consuming the food. It's been a long time since she has even cracked a smile.

All the joy has been drained from her, leaving her an empty shell of her vivacious self.

"My lady?"

She looks up at her with blank eyes. Henriette takes pity and takes her plate away. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t wish.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there something wrong? Something you’d like to talk about?”

“No.” She can’t even muster up the energy to sound indignant. “There’s nothing you can do for me, Henriette.”

Henriette covertly watches her mistress from under veiled lids, suspicion remaining. It’s bad to snoop, but someone has to try and get to the bottom of this. There must be a reason why her mistress is so desperately unhappy.

Why will she not confide in me?

Once Henriette decides to apply her considerable intellect and curiosity to the thorny problem of Margot only one explanation comes to mind. Anjou’s horrible leer as he ordered her to his room, as if she were nothing more than a common doxy. Queen Catherine’s callous words to her daughter.

Surely not! He can’t be bothering his own sister with the tacit approval of his mother. That would be nothing short of monstrous!

She has to ask the question no one else dares to ask, though Margot will not like it.

I have to deal with this with delicacy, with a certain amount of tact. If I invite her to the Hôtel de Guise for some privacy and start getting some answers before it’s too late.

 

Henriette is helping her mistress dress for bed. She brushes the long silken skeins of dark hair back from her face and holds out her new chemise to wear. Margot sheds her chemise with some reluctance, covering up her curves as if she were ashamed of her body. It’s an instant warning bell to Henriette who knows her mistress. This isn’t like her.

“No, don’t. I’ll put myself to bed.”

“Come Margot ma cherie, what is this?”

The girl’s cheeks stain scarlet with embarrassment. “Nothing.”

Henriette acts by impulse. She undoes the red satin bows of her chemise and looks at her body to confirm her suspicions. She stifles a gasp. It’s obvious. Henriette looks at the tell-tale signs. The swollen breasts, the darkened nipples, the curve of her belly.

“Do you want to talk about this?”

There’s panic flaring in Margot’s eyes. All of a sudden she looks lost and vulnerable. Henriette feels a surge of pity.

She’s little more than a girl. Nearly sixteen years of age. Past the time she should have been safely married off to a foreign Prince and starting her duty of extending the royal dynasty. This cannot be happening.

“Please Henriette, you mustn’t say anything. I couldn’t bear the disgrace if everyone knew.”

“You can’t bury your head in the sand forever. It has to be dealt with.”

“I know.”

Henriette is nothing but brisk and practical in the face of a crisis. “Have you seen Paré?”

She shakes her head looking at her with big terrified eyes. Henriette feels a sting of exasperation at the whole mess. Why is everyone except for her turning a blind eye to the problem?

“Margot, you can’t pretend this isn’t happening. You have to act now. Unless you are prepared to have this child. For soon it will be too late to deal with.”

“Too late?” There’s no disguising the horror in Margot’s voice.

Henriette makes an impatient movement. “You must do the right thing, Margot. You cannot bear this child. The disgrace-“

“I know that! Don’t you think I don’t know that?” groans Margot, rocking in despair. Two fat tears roll down her cheeks. “I’ve heard the tales. I know what can happen-“

“Who is the father? Who did this to you?” Henriette sees the look of terror that crosses her face she realises that this is the problem at hand. “Can you not say? Is it Nate?”

“What?” Margot looks shocked. She shakes her head in incredulity. “How could you think-“

“I know you love him. You have for a long time, have you not?” She tries to be sympathetic, work out how this disaster might have happened. “Did you both get carried away? These things happen my lady, although I don’t know how you’re going to protect him once the truth comes out. Is that why your mother banished him from court?-“

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. Nate is innocent! I have done nothing but exchange kisses with him. It isn’t him!”

Henriette has her doubts that they restrained themselves to mere kisses in their youthful ardour but she keeps her own counsel for now.

“All he did was try and protect me and they sent him away.” She bites her lip in anguish.

“Well you must have caught it from somewhere.” she says before regretting her words. “Is it-“

Margot shakes her head. “No he stopped months ago. He barely speaks to me now.” she hears the hurt and abandonment in her voice and Henriette feels sad for the girl.

“There’s only-“ Henriette falls silent, struck with horror at the dawning truth. “Oh God, tell me it’s not him? Not Anjou?”

“Please don’t say anything!” Margot is crying in earnest now. Great huge jagged sobs that make her chest heave. “If you love me, please don’t say it-“

“You cannot allow him to get away with it. Prince or not. It’s not right-“

“Who is going to stop him? Maman?”

Henriette remembers her futile attempt to resist Anjou. How he had to prise her from the bannister. Catherine’s icy voice as she withheld comfort to her own daughter.

“Margot, do you not believe that justice will be done?”

“Justice? She will deny him nothing. She has always loved him better than all of us. Anjou is her idol, her god. We are nothing to her compared to him, even Charles. I will get no justice from her, Henriette. She will blame me instead-“

She traces the ugly bite mark on her mistress’s thigh. Margot winces but says nothing, the tears rolling down her face.

“Is this him?”

Margot nods and tries to cover the scar, but Henriette pulls her hand away, stroking the sore red flesh. “Why would he do this? To mar your beauty?”

“He marked me. To remind me that I am nothing but his whore and always will be.”

The bitterness in Margot’s voice breaks Henriette’s heart. She cradles the girl in her arms. “We can solve this, I promise. It isn’t the end of the world.”

A solution is coming to the mind of the resourceful little duchesse. Though she pauses, conscious of having to be careful. Some types of knowledge can be perilous. How to rid oneself of an unexpected and unwanted child. Doubtless, many would count what she must tell the Princesse as sinful and shameful. And if something went wrong and it got out that she, Henriette de Nevers was involved.…

“Isn’t it?”

“Let me talk to Paré.” Henriette says, stout hearted as ever. _She needs me, poor girl. I cannot abandon her now!_

Margot turns terrified eyes on her friend. “The royal physician? He’ll tell mother! He’ll tell my brother Charlot! I couldn’t bear it.”

“He’s the only one who can save your reputation and maybe your life. There’s no guarantees, but Paré’s a good decent man. He will at least attempt to help you with discretion.” She strokes her mistress’s hair and Margot’s eyes close, weary of her grief.

“Don’t wait any longer, ma cherie.” She whispers.

* * *

 

** 1572, present day **

When Sir Francis and Brad try to speak to Paré, he is remarkably obstructive.

‘The incident you talk of was a long time ago, I’m not sure that I remember the details.’ He says. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am a busy man, Lord Walsingham.”

Sir Francis was prepared to him to try and block their attempt. At least the surgeon has some notion of medical ethics.

“Queen Catherine asked me to investigate. You wouldn’t be trying to obstruct that process, would you Monsieur Paré?” he asks the surgeon.

Paré gives a bitter laugh. “You’re using Queen Catherine to threaten me? That’s got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“There are things that should be forgotten. It does no good to dig them up and expose them once again to the light of day.”

“I want justice to be done. If that means uncovering the sins and scandals of the family, then that is what has to be done.”

“Do you really believe that?

“Do I have to go above your head and seek a high authority Because I have no qualm in doing so. If I have to go to the king himself.”

Sir Franics knows he’s exerted the right pressure on the doctor. He can see that Paré doesn’t like the thought of displeasing royalty at all, especially masters as volatile as the Valois.

“Everything you need is in the file, Sir Francis.” Paré says tersely. “I don’t see why you have to expose her like this? Don’t you think that the girl has suffered enough? Because I assure you it was not a pleasant procedure by any means.”

When Paré speaks, his voice is grudgingly gentle. Brad senses he has some affection for the princess. “She was a good girl at heart, in an impossible position. She did what she had to in order to survive. Don’t think she hasn’t suffered the consequences of her actions for a long time. A procedure like this cannot be easily forgotten.”

“You read the file locked in my office. It will not leave this room. Do I make myself clear?”

“But-“

“They are the conditions I impose. Take them Sirs, or leave them.” the physician looks Sir Francis in the eye, defying him to protest further.

Sir Francis knows they are so close to solving the mystery, even on Paré's stringent terms, it would be worth it. “We accept your terms, Monsieur Paré.”

 

The group read the file locked in his office, their jaws dropping open as they read the details in Paré’s dry almost illegible hand.

“Dear God, No wonder they wanted this buried forever.”

“If anyone had found out the truth about Margot, it would destroy her reputation, and that of her entire family. A scandal of this magnitude, it could have brought the entire Valois dynasty to its knees. Destabilised the entire country as the de Guise dynasty made a grab for power in the chaos. And of course, you know what the implications of that would be, gentlemen. This could have destroyed any hope of peace-“

“When Charles confessed, and Coligny started digging deeper he uncovered a scandal far bigger than he could have imagined. When he found out that Catherine’s ploy was to marry the girl off to Henri to shore up her peace, a peace that he didn’t believe in, there was only one option.’

‘To tell Jeanne. Whatever the consequences.’

‘How did they cover it up? How could this happen?’

Ray reads on. ‘Paré carried out the operation with the help of a midwife, who was sworn to secrecy, but something went wrong. The Lady Margot is barren, unable to bear any more children.’

 

The group are speechless, taking in the ramifications of the explosive secret they have managed to uncover.

“These people are unbelievable. Imagine doing that to your own flesh and blood.” Walt says in disgust. “It explains so much about her and this court.”

“You pity her?” Godfather says. “This girl stained with her family’s heinous crimes? Mired by sin?”

“Of course I do! Whatever our disagreements, that is appalling. Anjou forced her. He kept doing it, while they sent Nate away. The only person who had the decency to protect her.”

Brad looks at Nate. He says nothing, but Brad can tell by the pallor of his face even he is shocked by the sordid revelation of what went on after he was banished to Italy.

“Nathaniel. Talk to me” He says in a low urgent voice.

If it was in his power to wipe that look of horror off his face Brad would do, at whatever cost to himself. He never wants to see Nate like that, so helpless.

“She never said a word, not once. She wouldn’t talk about it. She couldn't-” He says over and over. He puts his head in his hands. “Oh, Daisy-“

“Nathaniel, what troubles you?” Godfather rasps in alarm.

“I can’t talk about this. I can’t think-“ he stammers, his voice breaking. “I have to go. I can’t bear it.”

“Where is he going?” Godfather says. “Nathaniel, come back! That’s an order!”

He turns back to face his boss, his face stricken. “Try to understand, Lord Ferrando.”

Godfather goes to call him back but Sir Francis stops him with a hand on his arm. “Leave the lad alone, Stephen. He’s had a terrible shock.”

“We are still on assignment. I can’t have him flaking out on me now!”

 

“How on earth do we tell Henri of this?”

“Is it really our place to tell him? He won’t thank us for the information , I can assure you.”

“But do we have the right to keep this from him?”

 

* * *

Catherine goes to see Charlotte in her chambers at night using the secret passage and letting herself in.

Charlotte’s asleep in her chair by the fire. Catherine wonders whether she stayed up waiting for Henri, she can see the table’s set for two, a simple intimate meal.

“Carlotta? Awake, child.” She bends down to whisper in her ear.

Charlotte awakes, thoroughly startled and caught off guard by her mistress.

“Your Majesty? What are you doing here?” Catherine fancies she can hear guilt there plain as day in her voice. It would have been amusing to have brought Margot with her. Had the confrontation between jilted wife and unrepentant mistress out in the open. But there’s ample time for that, later on.

“I wanted to speak to you, Carlotta in private.”

“We are alone here, Your Majesty.”

Catherine takes another look round the room. Charlotte watches her fix her glance on the table and its meal set for two.

“Expecting someone, are you? Carlotta, aren’t you the deceitful one? I thought I gave you instructions to stop seeing Henri de Navarre.” Her voice drops in temperature. Charlotte flinches at the unsheathed viciousness in her tone. “You have a new assignment, do you not? The Duc d’Alençon. And yet I understand you have not even approached him?”

“Please your Majesty; do not be angry at me.”

“I don’t know how you expect to advance in the Esquadron Volant if you flout orders. Do you think that Anne-Marie de Guise would have advanced so far by disobeying my instructions?”

“Maybe she is willing to sacrifice everything to your will-“ starts Charlotte with a flash of defiance.

“-But you are not? Dear me, and I really thought you had what it took to lead the esquadron?” she leans forwards to intimidate her. “Carlotta, I need not say how disappointed I am in you. I suggest you have a long think about where your loyalties lie, Madame de Sauve. For I do not forget insurrection and I will not forgive.”

 

“Didn’t you know?” Catherine says casually twisting the knife. “Henri has so little respect for you, despite all you’ve done for him; he’s planning to divorce you as soon as he decently can. He can’t wait to get rid of you. Who knows? He might take it into his head to marry again. Now aren’t you glad I made it my business to spy on your husband?”

Even though Margot knows what her mother’s up to, the wedge she’s trying to drive between Henri and herself, she can’t help herself reacting. Catherine’s snide comments are like tapping a raw nerve. “It’s not true. Why must you say such things?”

“Why can’t you believe me, my dear child?” Catherine says with a smug smile.

She’s enjoying every minute of this, isn’t she? thinks Margot bitterly. Anything to hurt me.

“Do you have any idea how much it hurts that my own children do not trust me? That they suspect me of the worst of motives?”

“That’s usually because we have ample example of your scheming.” Margot lashes out.

“All I do is from the best of motives. The well-being of my children and our proud family.” Catherine says, aiming for innocence and landing somewhere between gloating and sadism.

Margot doesn’t even hide the scornful sound she makes at that one.

“My sources tell me that he’s making enquiries about annulling marriage vows made under duress. About the ethics of remarrying a married woman. Really, Marguerite you should keep a better eye on your husband!”

Margot knows exactly what she is talking about. Charlotte de Sauve and her inexplicable grip on her husband.

“It’s double adultery. I would never give him the satisfaction of a separation.” She says with a flash of pride.

“It’s a shame you can’t get a child to bind him to you... Because you do realise you need him, as much as he hurt you by his betrayal.”

“I? Need him?”

Catherine leans in for the kill. “Yes Marguerite, my fair intriguer. Without him, what chance do you have of getting near the throne? You know Salic law debars you from inheriting it in your own right.”

“I don’t care about the throne, Mother.”

“Ah Marguerite, you are such a terrible liar. Just like your brother Charles. This isn’t England, where a heretic bastard like Elizabeth can hold a throne for twenty years. Your only hope is to stick to Henri like glue and hope for the downfall of your family. That’s why you involved yourself with the Englishmen. Nothing to do with sexually desiring Lord Hasser at all, was it? He was a means to an end. Ah Margot, how like me you are to the bone though you deny it-”

She’s undaunted by her mother’s accusations. “Oh Mother, what are you talking about? I, help the English? Do what? Are you calling me a traitor now?” she challenges. “And you knew as well as I did, it was just sex with Walt. That’s exactly what you wanted. To distract me from de Guise, wasn’t that the plan? We both played the game and did what you wanted.”

“It might have been. But we never did get to the bottom of why you were so keen to intrigue with them. I know they are spies. That Lord Walsingham sent for them to spy on us. I wonder that I didn’t see it before. ”

Margot looks at her mother with silent loathing.

“Don’t think I don’t know who broke into my office. Stole my correspondence. Who would have the ability and the daring to carry out such an outlandish plan?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mother. And if you are going to make accusations to my brother, then you’d better have cast iron proof.”

Catherine scrutinises her daughter, but Margot is accustomed to defying her mother and merely gazes at her blandly back.

“It’s a terrible injustice that if Henri gets his way it’ll be Charlotte that reaps the benefits by his side, not you. And yet you labour to defend him. Don’t tell me you are wounded by his betrayal?”

Margot tries to control her anger; to appear unaffected by her mother’s naked malice. “I don’t believe a word you say. You have no proof. It’s all lies, slander and filth-“

Catherine plays her trump card, so eager to bring down her rebel daughter. “No proof? I believe this will prove adequate.” She slides the parchment across the desk, her eyes filled with false pity. “My dear deceived child.”

Margot eyes the innocuous paper as if it were a viper poised to strike. “Don’t, Maman.”

Catherine insists most ruthlessly, keen to press her advantage. “Read it, child. Read for yourself of Henri’s duplicity towards you.”

Unwillingly she reads the paper, the blood draining from her face as she does so. There it is; in black and white; Henri de Navarre’s formal enquiry into annulling the marriage. Until now she hadn’t known how much it would hurt. The stinging humiliation she’d feel reading his words.

“Do you know Charlotte de Sauve is already boasting among my girls that he’ll marry her after he’s ditched you?

“What?” Margot turns pale with anger. Her jaw clenches rigid with fury as she hears of her maid’s duplicity.

“Shall you tolerate this meekly? A daughter of my proud and venerated Valois and Medici blood?”

“How do I know that this isn’t one of your forgeries?” she retorts.

“Marguerite, how you wound me!” her mother says mockingly. “Speak to him yourself. Find out for yourself. I think you’ll find I have your best interests at heart, though you do not trust me.”

* * *

Henri enters his room and sees Margot sat by the fire, bolt upright. Henriette and Gillone duck away, avoiding eye contact. He sees Gillone look back tremulously at him, biting her lip. Henriette gives her a sharp tug by the hand and they make themselves scarce. He’s surprised that she wants to be alone, no attendants.

“My Lady?”

“Shut the door, Henri.” He’s surprised to hear the terseness in her voice. Something’s up. She looks up from her book and just fixes him with a glare.

“What’s this, Margot? This isn’t quite the welcome home I was expecting.” He says lightly. He’s seen the dangerous gleam in her eyes and learnt that trouble cannot be too far behind.

“When were you going to tell me, Henri?” she asks evenly.

“Tell you what?” he says.

She picks up the letter from the table. As he sees the handwriting and the legal seal on the paper, his heart plummets. Damn! The lawyer’s letter. She knows everything. There no way he’s going to able to wriggle out of this one now.

“Do you understand now?” she hisses, pushing the letter towards him.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this, Margot.” He says knowing he sounds lame. She has every right to be angry. It’s all there, clear as crystal.

“I’m not surprised you didn’t.” She says unsympathetically. “For God forbid, you should ever consider being honest with me. I’m only your wife, after all?”

“You never wanted to be.” He retorts, stung by her derision. Her air of superiority and barely concealed disdain for his ways.

She’s never even given me a chance. What right has she to act jealous? When I know for a fact that she still visits her lovers? I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still visiting de Guise. If she was still sleeping with that gorgeous young music master of hers whenever she leaves the palace.

“-And how you rub that fact in my face, my Lord. Every single day.”

“You do realise she works for my mother? She’s part of the esquadron. She seduced you on my mother’s orders. Do you really believe that she loves you?”

“A damn sight more than you ever did! You never even bothered to pretend.”

“Pretend? You wanted me to play a role, Henri?” She says in a sweet voice edged in bitterness. “Because I believed that I did. I kept my side of the bargain. To play the dutiful wife, to try and keep you safe by whatever means I had. But you, sir... you did not. The rules of the game don’t apply to you.”

He believes that at moments like these he hates her. The way she uses her words as weapons flung against him. Her cold anger and wit used to attack him. The knowledge deep down that he knows he deserves every harsh word she throws at him.

Margot has no right to reproach me for my infidelities. When have I ever upbraided her for consorting with de Guise, my sworn enemy, my childhood friend? I even allowed her to dally with that handsome troubadour day after day.

The blood drains from her face. She almost bristles with anger. Henri wonders how long it will be until she physically attempts to strike him. He can see the fist clenched in her skirts, the tremble of her limbs, the clench of her jaw. How similar to her brother Charles she is. The emotions so close to the surface.

“That was a low blow, Henri. It’s unworthy of you.” She retorts, with an effort at civility.

“I never claimed to be a gentleman, my lady. But that certainly didn’t bother you when you were begging me to give you the rutting you crave on our wedding night. What was I: just another prick for hire?”

Her face turns scarlet with embarrassment and anger, but by a supreme effort of will she manages to control herself. “Just stop, Henri. I can’t do this. I’m not going to argue or act the nag with you. I just don’t have the energy any more.”

He sees her big blue eyes sparkle with what he suspects are tears and he feels momentarily bad.

“Marrying you was a mistake. My mother was right. I should never have let myself be coerced into this sham, for a peace that never existed. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to find out this way, from your witch of a mother.”

“What are you trying to say, Henri?”

“Grant me the divorce. Break the bond, Margot. The marriage was never ratified by the Pope. Everyone knew you were forced into it by your family at blade-point. No blame will be assigned if we dissolve this farce-” Henri sinks to his knees and takes her hand in his fervent grasp, eager to convince her to see his point of view. “You are still young and beautiful as an angel. You will be able to find yourself a new suitable husband, even if you will no longer be Queen of Navarre. Margot, set us both free!”

“Do you even realise the reason you are still alive? Because you are my husband for better or worse.” Margot removes her hands from his grasp. By the cold light in her eye, her resemblance to Catherine is laid bare, no more mistaking whose daughter she is. “Charles loves me as his dearest little sister. His only true and loyal sibling. The moment he realises you are going to leave me for that slut Charlotte de Sauve, your life will be worth less than a feather. Think of that while you’re tupping your whore behind my back.”

 

* * *

Henri can't wait to get Charlotte into bed that night. The moment she opens the door to her boudoir, he pushes her up against the door frame, kissing the breath out of her lungs. Her arms curl round him pulling him closer.

"Oh God, I can't get enough of you-" he murmurs to her, burying his face in her long dark stream of wavy hair.

"Not in the doorway.” she protests, though she has a fond pleased gleam in her eyes. "Henri, you're so ardent!"

“Only for you.”

She draws him inside, lets him sit down in his favourite chair, sliding her heavy devoré skirt up her long slim legs, she straddles him, keen to get closer.

"My love...My Lord."

"Charlotte." He’s pulling at the bodice of her dress.

”I want you right here, right now."

she looks him right in the eye, an amorous challenge in her own. Her voice falls to a low and sultry pitch. “then take me, my lord-”

Her hands quickly undo his breeches, stroking him to full readiness in a rhythm calculated to drive him wild.

"I don't know what I would ever do without you, Charlotte, he says almost wistfully.

Charlotte is playful. "What do you mean, Sire?”

"You are everything I want in a woman. Clever, passionate, beautiful, bold. How I wish that I could have married you instead of her."

Charlotte cannot suppress a thrill of victory. He prefers her to Princess Margot, the famed beauty of France. This is perfect. Perfect! Idly in her post coital haze she briefly allows herself to daydream about being the next Queen of Navarre.

Technically, she is still married to the Vicomte de Semblançay, but that could be easily rearranged. Her absent husband had enough sense not to interfere in her life, just as she blithely took no notice of his. A quick divorce, enough gold sent to the coffers of Rome to placate them and it could happen.

Stranger things have! She laughs a little to herself, mocking her own foolishness even as she acknowledges her aspiration.

_You know when Catherine first gave me the assignment, I was reluctant. In all honesty, it was the best move I ever made. Henri really loves me and I- Surely, I'm not in love with Henri of all people? Her rough passionate candid Béarnais, whatever would she do without him? It's true, I love him._

"If I was a free man, would you?"

“Would I what?” she urges, playfully running her fingers through his dark wiry hair. She plants an affectionate kiss on his hooked nose.

“Marry me.” He gives her a smile full of love and charm. “Be mine. Forever.”

She smiles at him. "Of course, Henri."

"I promise you, when I am free-" he murmurs.

“But you're not -" she interjects firmly. “You’re married to my mistress Margot. How can we be together?”

Henri merely has a shrewd look in his eyes. “Who knows? I have been asking advice. But it is a deadly secret. No one must know."

"You want to divorce Margot? Already?" she asks. _This is juicier and juicier! Anne-Marie de Guise would give her eye teeth to have such classified information under her belt!_

“Your husband wouldn’t object? You are still married to him.”

“He doesn’t give a damn what I do. If you bunged him enough cash, he’d fade into the background soon enough.” She says with a cynical curve of her lips. “O Henri, you’ve made me so happy!”

 

Charlotte waits in bed for Henri. He’s in the other room stripping for bed. As she waits, she thinks it would be an ideal time to try out her new lip salve, freshly purchased from René. The perfumer had slyly taken her aside and hinted that his latest concoction, not only plumped up the lips, making them moist and delectable; by some miracle of alchemy and technology it acted as an aphrodisiac.

“You’re quiet, ma cherie.” he calls. “You haven’t fallen asleep on me, have you?”

Her eyes are wide with pain and horror.

“Dear God, what happened? What happened to you?” he cries.

Charlotte foams at the mouth. She's choking and groaning, clutching at her throat. "Help me, Henri. Oh Lord, spare me-” She manages to gasp.

Henri stares at her in a panic, watching helplessly as she dies. The terrible thought running through his head like an obsessive mantra: _If I had kissed her after she had applied that balm, I would have been poisoned as well. I would have ingested it as well unwittingly. Someone aimed to kill us both._ This has got to be the Valois all over. Who is it? Margot, the jilted wife looking for a cruel yet swift revenge?

Even as he thinks it, he dismisses the thought.

If it had been Margot, she would have attacked them to their face, spitting, screaming and scratching like a hoyden, cursing both of them for their betrayal. This deadly plotting, this ruthless attempt on his life has the mark of someone far more strategic and scheming. Catherine.

He frantically rings the bell. "Help! For God's sake, help me!"

Nançay comes to the door. "What is it, Sire?"

"Madame de Sauve is in a bad way. Please get Monsieur Paré. We might still be able to save her."

Nançay looks at the convulsing body. “There’s nothing you can do for her, my lord. Thank God you yourself were spared.”

“What do you mean? Do something, Nançay. You can’t just stand there and watch as she dies? She still might yet be saved.”

“I wish I could help you, sire for what it’s worth but ‘tis impossible.” Nançay picks up the pot of balm from the floor, where Charlotte dropped it. He sniffs at it. “Just as I thought.”

“What?” says Henri frantically. “What do you suspect?”

“Charlotte has been poisoned by a master of her craft.” Nançay says, holding out the pot of balm. “I’m sorry sir, but as I said there’s nothing we can do.” He hold his hand out stiffly, soldier to the last. “I am sorry for your loss, Sire.”

Henri realises the strength of the forces arrayed against him and Catherine’s wickedness. It must be her who told Margot of his affair with Charlotte. She who isolated him to such an extent that she could strike again at him with impunity.

“René the Florentine. The same man who killed my mother Jeanne...”


	28. The Sacrifice of the Lamb

Alençon lets a ruthless little smile spread across his face.“So you don’t want Henri to return to Navarre to rule again? Is that what I am to understand by your clandestine overtures?”

Du Bartas nods, making up his mind.“He has abandoned us and our faith, thanks to your sister and her wiles. Why should we accept him, when he broke the contract between him and us? When he turned his back on his faith?”

Alençon cannot resist twisting the knife further, enjoying the new turn to the conversation. He sees how this rebellion would benefit himself most, giving him at a stroke all he desires. “Of course it’s understandable that Henri would weaken in the face of such temptation. Marriage to a woman like my sister-” he pauses for effect, “-well, I’m sure you all know her reputation for licentiousness. Alas, poor simple Henri never stood a chance-”

“She is to blame for him turning his back on his faith? Why, he didn’t even want to marry her. He certainly hasn’t remained faithful since the ceremony. Everyone knows about their disputes and his affair with Charlotte de Sauve-” Du Bartas tuts.

Alençon smirks at the other man, enjoying himself immensely at his disapproval of his master and his new wife,“You underestimate my sister and her powers of seduction. What can I say to convince you of the moral danger Henri is in?”

* * *

“I have some marvellous news for you, dear Brother.” The king says as the court convenes.

Anjou scarcely tries to hide his insolence and scorn of his brother. “Do you indeed?”

“The Polish delegation have nominated you as their next Monarch. They want you to be the next King of Poland. What a supreme honour for you.” Charles’s smile broadens as he reveals the master touch. “Of course, I accepted the honour on your behalf. You are to depart in a week. How marvellous. What great fortune! Your own kingdom at last!”

Anjou and Catherine are frozen in shock as are the rest of the court. The queen mother has turned white underneath her paint. She sits frozen by the news; staring at Charles as if he has finally lost his wits.

“What?” Anjou croaks.

“Hail, our new King! King of Poland!” the head of the delegation says, kissing the hem of his doublet. Anjou shrinks away from the man in disgust.

“Take your hands off me!” He bawls, appalled by these uncouth strangers daring to touch him.

“You have got to be joking.” Catherine starts, blood drained completely from her face. She clutches at Anjou’s sleeve as if she fears that the Polish delegation will drag him away from the table, throw him over the back of their horses and ride post haste for Krakow. “You would not do this. To take my son, mon yeux away from me.”

Charles is savouring this, like the finest Burgundy,“Oh no, Madame, I am deadly serious.”

“I want to talk to you right away.” Catherine starts to say, absolutely furious at Charles’s coup. “What in God’s name are you playing at?”

He stares back at her, wide golden-hazel eyes glittering and defiant, his mind made up. “I have already made my decision, Anjou. I suggest you start packing as soon as possible, and informing your ‘mignons’ about their new home. ‘Tis a long journey to your new kingdom, and the weather there apparently is not so clement. I’d pack for winter if I were you, just to be sure.”

 

Catherine, aware of Alençon's scheme to take the throne of Navarre in Henri’s absence, assures her son as they plot in her office late at night.

“Henri is suffering from an incurable disease, and must be taken away from Paris. Perhaps we might also attend to the king and his ill-health.” Catherine idly mentions, just in case someone was lingering outside the door.

Alençon isn’t very swift on the uptake. “I don’t understand. For once Charles seems to be in decent health. He has nightmares, but he hasn’t had an attack for weeks, not since the massacre.”

Catherine shakes her coifed head in despair at her youngest son’s sheer obtuseness. If only he had inherited Anjou’s cunning or Margot’s quicksilver intelligence! Instead this is the raw material she has to work with now! How the mighty have fallen!

“Must I explain every last nuance of my plots to you?”

His lip pouts out defiantly. “Maman, I am not a mind-reader!” He subsides as she gives him a look down the bridge of her nose.

"Are you sure that Henry will die?" asks Alençon eventually, seeking to make peace. “I want nothing to impede my progress to the throne.”

"The physician who gave me a certain book assured me of it." Catherine says, cool as ever.

 _Ah, Master René!_ thinks Alençon. _I might have known he would have a finger in this pie!_ "And where is this book? What is it?"

Catherine brought the book from her cabinet. She strokes the cracked green leather cover briefly, a wicked smile on her face. "Here it is. It is a treatise on the art of rearing and training falcons by an Italian. Give it to Henry, who is going hawking with the king to-day. He will not fail to read it, if I know him."

"I dare not!" says Alençon, shuddering. _Is there no limit to his mother’s ruthlessness? Will she stop at nothing to raise his brother Anjou to the throne?_ He remembers Margot’s wild accusation, that Catherine was responsible for his older brother François’s death by neglect and poison. He scoffed at her then, but maybe she knew more than she was letting on. _Charles is a doomed man._

Catherine raises an eyebrow. Despite himself, Alençon rankles at her scorn.

“Don’t tell me you are afraid?” she remarks, scorn lacing her words.

“I am not afraid!” he protests. “But this...Maman, this is treason you play at. And if you do not succeed, it is I who will pay the price!”

"Nonsense!" replies Catherine, disregarding his concerns. "It is a book like any other, only the leaves have a way of sticking together. Don't attempt to read it yourself, for you will have to wet the finger in turning over each leaf, which takes up so much time. You do understand me perfectly, François Hercule?"

"Oh," says Alençon, understanding exactly how Catherine’s vengeance was to work. “How many pages will it take to work, Maman?”

“Three tastes will be enough to do the job properly. Rene assures me his recipe is quite potent.” 

"Henry is with the court! Give me the book, and while he is away I will put it in his room."

“You’ll carry out my wishes to the letter? I don’t want any mistakes. Not like that day at the hunt?” Catherine remarks.

“I told you that was an accident!” he cries out, flushing hot with shame at his own craven cowardice. Every time he thinks of how he pulled his punch at the hunt, he feels the lash of her scorn like a lash on his naked flesh. He knows full well what she is thinking. I should have got Anjou to do it. He wouldn’t have let me down. 

He has to repress the urge to shout: ‘Well why didn’t you get your darling boy, your damned favourite to do it instead if he’s so perfect?’

“The stakes are too high now for any errors. I have to know that you will do the task I have assigned you.”

He sinks to his knees in front of his mother, and kisses her plump pale hand in submission.

“I will obey you in all things, O wise mother.” He declares, his voice cracking.

She prises her hand from his grip and gives him her usual cold smile, patting his pitted cheek in a mockery of affection. “Be sure that you do.”

* * *

****

Madeleine de Rochechouart's apartment

"Aren't you drinking, dear?" Anne-Marie pours a glass of wine for Madeleine.

Madeleine looks distrustfully at Anne-Marie. She remembers all too well that Brad warned her against that woman. Her envious eyes following them as they went for a ride or walked in the garden. She desired Lord Colbert for herself and it was a blow to her pride that he ignored her in favour of me.

"I don't know what you want." she says.

Anne-Marie graces her with a false smile, baring her pretty white teeth. It makes Madeleine, already apprehensive about the other woman, shiver. "Her Majesty was disconsolate that you wanted to leave court. For a convent, no less! She wanted me to help persuade you not to make such a foolish mistake."

"It's not a mistake. I want to leave court, and so far I haven't heard anything to convince me otherwise."

Anne-Marie's eyes gleam with just a hint of cruelty, probing for any weak spot she can find,“Not even Lord Colbert? I know you like him.” her voice is low sweet and insinuating.

Madeleine flushes, to Anne-Marie’s satisfaction. Her fair skin, as pink and white as a rose petal freshly bloomed, always gives her away. "As I said to her Majesty, there is nothing between us. He is a friend, that's all."

Anne-Marie leans forward. "I don't believe that's true, is it? You have learned to become quite the accomplished liar, haven't you?"

"I'm telling the truth, I swear it!"

"Oh Madeleine, you sweet duplicitous girl-" Anne Marie purrs with a spike of malice as she invades her personal space seeking to intimidate and dominate her. "You were seen. In the orchard. In his arms. Is this jogging your memory, dear Madeleine? How you both nearly lost control?"

"Nothing happened-" Madeleine stammers, her big blue eyes wide with fear. She trembles as Anne-Marie leans over her, "We are both innocent, I swear.”

Anne-Marie does not believe a word of Madeleine's desperate pleading, "But I know you desired him. You made it perfectly obvious when the team first arrived at court. What was it you said? 'He was like an avenging angel?'”

Madeleine bristles at her mockery, drawing the remnants of her dignity round her like a pathetic thin shield, inadequate enough to protect her from the other woman's malicious questioning,"It was just a silly little dream. Once I got to know the real Brad, I forgot my girlish daydream and just wanted to be his friend."

"Besides he wanted someone else. Didn't he?” says Anne-Marie with a slash of a smile, twisting the knife cruelly.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask him, Anne-Marie.” Madeleine stammers.

"Him and the troubadour falling for each other. How did that make you feel? Being rejected for another man? Why, you and your mistress Margot must have much to commiserate on. I know she spent many a night breaking her heart over Nathaniel Fick."

"It's not true, I promise." Madeleine protests.

"He was holding you in his arms. Telling you you'd be a target if we realized the extent of your relationship. Didn't he say: If I wasn't in love, I could so easily fall for someone like you? The first woman I've trusted since Letty-"

 _How long had Anne-Marie been spying on her and Brad, to know about Letty?_ "Why are you doing this? I haven't done anything wrong!"

"I'm upsetting you! I forget how very sensitive you are, dear girl. Perhaps you are right, that's what so amusing about it. That even though you are lying through your teeth for the man, there’s some truth in what you say. Aren't they the best lies? The ones with a soupçon of truth in them?"

Madeleine looks at her in terror as Anne-Marie goes in for the killer blow."Once a member of the esquadron, always a member. Did you ever really think that the Queen Mother would ever let you walk away? Moulder in a convent for the rest of your life?"

"I never wanted to join!"

Anne-Marie's smirk was positively cruel as she traps her against the oaken table. Madeleine has nowhere to escape to, not with Anne-Marie blocking her path. She holds something in her hand. "Well, isn't that ironic?"

"What is that?"

"Don't you fret, my dear child, just a little sedative to calm you. You are overwrought by our conversation-" Anne-Marie grabs her by the jaws, trying to force them open. Madeleine struggles against her, pushing and struggling to no avail. "Non, Anne-Marie!"

"Swallow the pastille like a good girl.” She croons. Madeleine tries in desperation to spit it out, but Anne-Marie has a firm merciless grasp. She forces her head back so Madeleine is forced to swallow or choke.

“Why are you doing this? Why?” she gasps, trying desperately to make herself bring up the sedative pill.

Anne-Marie bends to look the suffering girl in the eye, malevolence painted over her face. Madeleine tries to back away from the ruthless gleam in her eye, but she is rapidly losing the strength. Whatever was in that pastille was sapping the strength from her veins against her will, sickening her to the stomach. _She's poisoned me..._

“Because you stood in my light, so Lord Colbert wouldn’t look at me." What frightens Madeleine even more is the dispassionate tone of voice as she forces her to ingest the pill, "You endangered my position in the Esquadron.”

The life is flickering out of Madeleine, but she tries to say one last thing. “Lord Colbert would never even look at you. He despised you and your ilk.”

There’s a knock on the door. Anne-Marie lets him in. It’s her brother

“Is it done?” he asks. “Did you deal with the girl?”

“Of course. The stupid maid struggled and refused to swallow but she did in the end. Madeleine de Rochechouart will trouble me no more.”

De Guise examines the body, examines the livid bruising on the face, where Madeleine had struggled for life. The awkward position of the body as she had collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

“Just one more thing to do. Just to make sure she’s gone.”Anne-Marie twists the neck of Madeleine’s body like a chicken for the pot and drops the broken corpse on the floor. “There! Done, sure and swift.”

“What have you done, Anne-Marie?” says Henri de Guise softly looking at his sister with a peculiar look on his face as if he barely knows her any more.

“Are you going to help me with the god-damned body, or are you going to gawk at me all night, Henri!” she says crossly.

“What are ye planning to do?”

“Make it look like a suicide, what do you think?” she snaps. “Help me haul her out of the window. She’ll be discovered in the morning and by then everyone will assume that she committed suicide. That’s it-” A wicked smile spreads across her fair face, making her look truly wicked. “-because she couldn’t live without Lord Colbert and his rejection of her sent her over the edge.”

 

As the next morning dawns, the courtiers coming out into the early morning sun get an unpleasant surprise as they enter the courtyard.

The poor broken body of Madeleine de Rochechouart lies under the window, lying in a crumpled heap.

Henriette sinks to her knees crying uncontrollably. She is quite beyond consolation right now, tears sreaming down her cheeks, smearing her carefully applied paint. ‘Not Madeleine! Not my poor innocent friend. Why?’ she sobs.

The ladies-in-waiting look on in horror. Several make the sign of the cross, superstitiously turning away from a believed suicide.

Nançay is pale as he sees the dead body. ‘Get Sir Brad. Quickly!’ he shouts.

Catherine arrives and assesses the situation from behind lowered lids. He cannot prove anything, but observing her there is a flash of triumph in the Queen-Mother’s demeanour, No more than a brief moment, but Nançay has spotted it.

Queen Elisabeth and Margot by contrast look horrified by the body laid starkly there. Margot kneels by her fallen maid, trembling as she clasps her hand.

"Get rid of the body, Monsieur de Nançay." Catherine eventually says. “There has been enough disturbance this night.”

Guy stares down at the body in disgust and sorrow. She was little more than a bloody child! Little angelic Madeleine, with her books and her horses, her rippling golden hair and sky blue eyes. Who would dare to do something like this? He starts to despise the court where he works and lives, this vile deadly pit of serpents. No wonder Nate had to leave this cesspit of corruption before it changed him irrevocably. _God help him. I hope he can get away from this place. There’s no hope for me, entangled as I am with Alexandre-Edouard, but I hope he can leave for another life before he is irrevocably tainted._

 

Brad is working in his shirtsleeves, keen to solidify their suit against the de Guises beyond any question, when there is a knock on the door.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Sirs, but you have to come now.’ Gillone stares at him, terrified out of her wits. The team notice the redness of her eyes, the tears spilling over, smearing her paint down her cheeks. She‘s weeping so hard, it’s difficult to get any sense out of her for some time.

‘What’s the matter? Gillone, stop crying and tell me.’ Sir Francis urges.

She looks up at the awesome Lord Francis, lip trembling, ‘It’s Madeleine-‘ the girl says before bursting into noisy tears again. ‘It’s terrible, sir-‘

‘What about Mademoiselle de Rochechouart?’ the group look at each other, puzzled by the lady in waiting's grief.

‘She’s dead, Sir-‘ she sobs. “Thrown out of a window.”

Sir Francis takes charge, noting that his team leader is frozen in shock.‘Take us to her, Mlle de Thorigny. Right now, if you please. For Madeleine’s sake.’

* * *

‘What happened to her?’

‘We found her body underneath the window. At the moment we have no idea whether she was pushed or whether..." Elise hesitates, clearly unwilling to give her opinion, "- she jumped.’

‘What reason would she have to kill herself? She was young and fair. She had everything to live for.’

Brad notices Henriette's grief and he wants to talk to her about it. She out of all the ladies in waiting has taken poor Madeleine's death most to heart. To her, this death was personal.

Even Brad notices their scrutiny, the rumours that follow him around, how most of the courtiers now shrink from contact with him. He hears the whispers which die off the moment he enters a room. The suspicious glances from behind fans, the icy atmosphere that follows him wherever he goes.

Sick of the unjust scrutiny, he decides to talk to the one lady he knows will have her ear to the ground. Why did she blame herself for Madeleine's death?

I know 'tis foolish Lord Colbert, but Madeleine was very dear to me. Like a sister she was! And now..."

Comforting a grief-stricken lady is not exactly within Brad's skill-set. Excesses of emotion have always made him helpless and uncomfortable, but he understands her. For all her worldliness and frivolity, Henriette genuinely cared about the young girl.

"It's my fault, it's all my fault! She came to me for advice, telling me that she had been approached to join the esquadron and I encouraged her. I told her it was the only way to advance yourself at court. She was scared, but I promised to look out for her and keep her safe from harm as long as she followed the Queen-Mother's orders," her pert pretty face crumples with grief, "-and I failed her!"

"Madame de Nevers, do you think that there is foul play involved. That Madeleine-" he finds he can't say it. The though of that fair beautiful girl, snuffed out and crushed like a discarded flower seems obscene and wicked.

"I can't say, Brad-" she looks round, on edge, unwilling to commit, but Brad thinks he can see the truth. Henriette suspects something- or someone, but she is too afraid to voice what she believes.“In the court of public opinion, they want answers. They are looking for someone to blame. And you, for all your sins are the prime target,” Henriette confides in him. "It's insanity, isn't it? But when something like this happens, it is easy for people to lose their heads and jump to conclusions. They are looking for someone- anyone- to blame."

Brad cannot believe his ears, this has to be some kind of a sick joke. Madeleine was a friend, one of the few woman at this corrupt court he actually got on with, If things had been different, in another world, he might have easily developed feelings for the girl. “Do you believe I am responsible for her death?”

Henriette shakes her head, fiery curls shaking with vigour. “Of course I don’t. I know you cared for the girl. You were one of the best friends she ever had.”

"But?" there is something that Henriette is not saying to him.

“Don’t you see what is happening? Someone wants you out of the way. Someone is working their hardest to convince everyone else that you are responsible for the death of Madeleine. Can you think who that might be?” Henriette draws him close, fixing him with a dark eye full of burning grief. "No, you must not say anything out loud! But you are a clever man, you know the truth! You know!

 

The Duc de Rochechouart demands to see Brad. He agrees, although Sir Francis insists on being there with him.

‘I just want to make sure that things don’t get out of hand. I know he is grieving the loss of Madeleine, but the fact of the matter is you aren’t responsible for her death. And I will not have him or anyone else attempt to make you feel guilty over it.’

‘I feel responsible. I told her to leave court.’ Brad says leadenly. “An innocent girl is dead because I involved her in things beyond her understanding. You know why they did this, don’t you?”

“Why?”

“She was there, that day when I overheard about the Catholic League. We tried to convince Anjou that we were having a tryst, but he must have suspected and told his mother. Catherine must have ordered her death, because she pleaded to be set free from court.”

“Poor girl. Henriette told me that no one leaves the esquadron alive. She’s blaming herself for not protecting Madeleine.” Ray says.

“Brad, you mustn’t blame yourself.” Nate urges, wishing he could comfort him. 

Brad looks so lost, dry-eyed and taut with grief for the girl.“Who do I blame then?” he says starkly.

 

‘I’m not convinced that there wasn’t some foul play involved.’ Rudy says. “This is bad, Sir Francis-“

‘If we could see the body, we could ascertain for ourselves what the cause of death was. But Catherine is obstructing our every move.”

Someone doesn’t want justice to be done.

“The lads are working on it behind the scenes. I expect a report from Ray, Walt and Trombley this afternoon. We will get these accusations overturned, I promise.’

* * *

Lord de Rochechouart sits in Catherine's chair. "Lord Colbert. The queen mother was kind enough to help me arrange this meeting." He gives Sir Francis and Brad an evil look.

Sir Francis looks straight back at him. There’s no way he or Brad will allow themselves to be intimidated by a man like that, despite his power and money, for all Catherine's machinations they will not pin this crime on one of his men.

"I want to tell you most sincerely that I am terribly sorry for the death of your daughter Madeleine. She was a sweet girl. I was proud to count her as a dear friend." Brad says with dignity.

"Even so." he says. Brad can see the utter loathing on the old noble's face. He wonders what malicious lies Catherine's told Lord de Rochechouart about him, why he blames him so passionately for Madeleine's death.

"Why did my daughter die, Lord Colbert? Can you tell me that?"

"Excuse me, Lord de Rochechouart, you cannot ask me to allow this. My associate is not responsible for the lady's death. It’s all very tragic, but facts are facts." Sir Francis protests, irritated by the injustice he is witnessing. That anyone could accuse Brad, could dare to blame him for Madeleine's death is disgraceful, and he will not stand for it.

"I'm sure that the gentleman, if such he is, is perfectly capable of answering for himself. You don't have to speak for him, Lord Walsingham." the noble's lip curls in a sneer, as he looks down his nose at Brad.

“Lord Colbert is innocent.” Sir Francis insists." Madeleine's body was discovered outside a window."

"Exactly."

My daughter was the flower of France. A true beauty. We had great plans for her. She could have married any noble in France, De Guise or Condé... And now she's been snuffed out cruelly at the tender age of seventeen like a candle."

"I think you should be asking Catherine these questions, not us. Brad was nothing but a friend to the girl."

"Why do I not believe either of you?" His lip curls scornfully. 

If not for the fact that Brad is mindful that Lord de Rochechouart is grieving, he would not allow this man to insult him so. "I know your type only too well. A self made man, a man on the make. Sure, you have your looks, but your family is in no way suitable to be aligned with mine-"

"This has nothing to do with my family.” Brad says dangerously. Despite his sympathy at his grief for his daughter Monseigneur de Rochechouart has gone too far. “Sir, you go too far in your grief-“

De Rochechouart is too far gone to heed the warning. “When I heard you had designs on my daughter, I did some research on your family. A foundling. Brought up by rich Jews.”

"I am not ashamed of my family. I'm sorry if my birth is not good enough for you. Since I had no intention of-"

"How dare you!” Monsieur de Rochechouart’s face is crimson with anger, blue eyes popping with rage. He rises in his seat as if he wants to strike Brad. Brad has to use every hard earned inch of self-control not to react to his unconcealed aggression. “You dare to say to my face that you had no intention of marrying my daughter! You seduced her, told her lies to steal her heart. And when you got what you wanted-"

"It was she who chased him. I can vouch for the fact they were nothing but platonic friends." Sir Francis says sternly. ”Lord Colbert is being used as a scapegoat by this court and I will not tolerate it. If I were you, Sir-“ He makes no attempt to hide the irony in his voice. “I would ask serious questions about the environment that your daughter lived in at court. The people she associated with day by day, rather than blame a man who merely tried to be her friend.”

* * *

Nançay appears at their apartments witha small group of guards heavily armed.They surround Brad, starting to confine him. 

"Guy-Dominic? What's going on?"

“I am under orders.” It is as if Nançay cannot face his friend. 

“From who?” bursts out Trombley. “Who would order you to take Lord Colbert?”

“The Queen Mother herself.” Sir Francis says grimly. “I see her game now, only too well.”

Nançay makes a helpless gesture, caught in the middle between his orders and his liking for Brad. He avoids Nate's frantic attempts to persuade him.“I am sorry to do this to you, but my hands are tied. I am under orders-”

“Do you believe he is guilty? That he had anything to do with the murder of Madeleine?” Nate pleads with his old friend. “Guy-Dominic, think about this. Would you see an injustice done?”

Brad steps forward and allows the men to put the fetters on him.

“No, Brad! Why must you submit to this indignity!” Walt cries.

Trombley draws his sword, fury in every line of his face. “We shall not allow these French dogs to take our lord. Shall we?”

“Put down your swords. All of you-”

He forces himself to look at nothing but Nate’s stricken face, pale with shock.

“Guy, please don’t do this! You know Brad would never have hurt Madeleine. He grieves for her as much as anyone else. You can’t take him!”

“We are in their country now. I must be subject to the king’s justice as anyone else. I know that I am innocent. I would never have hurt Madeleine, never!”

“We will fight this. I promise you, Brad. We will prove your innocence in this matter.”

* * *

The cell’s not so bad. Brad’s able to scrape together enough gold to purchase some comforts. He’s not even bound. On the whole, things could have been a lot worse.

The door unlocks.

“There’s someone to see you, foreigner.” The guard shouts, ushering someone in. 

Brad steel himself for a confrontation as he sees Victor de Rochechouart enter the cell. He has probably heard all the scurrilous rumours and come to confront him, blame him for Madeleine’s death.

“Why have you come here?” he says wearily. “To blame me like your uncle?”

Victor sits on the crude bench. His golden hair is untidy and matted. Even in the dim light of the cell, Brad can see the marks of grief on his face.“No. Of course I don’t. Monsieur de Rochechouart told me that you had been arrested. It didn’t take me long to track you down. I hope they are treating you well. No excessive bribes?”

“If you wish to reproach me for the death for the death of your fiancée then I would completely understand-“ Brad starts leaning back against the thin straw-filled pallet in his cell in weariness.

“Blame you, Lord Colbert? No, I don’t blame you. Why on earth would I?”

Brad can’t hide his surprise.

“I see you truly cared for my dearest. You were a true friend to her in that terrible viper-pit of court. You know she admired you greatly, thought a great deal of you. If I blame anyone, I blame myself.”

“You blame yourself?”

Victor sighs, the weight of his guilt on his young shoulders. He seems like he’s aged decades in a couple of days since the tragic news came out. “All Maddy ever wanted was to be my wife. For us to retire to the country and have children, breed horses, and lead simple decent lives. She never enjoyed all the court intrigues and snares.”

Brad is silent, giving the grieving man the chance to speak.

“It was I who delayed. I wanted my freedom. To sow my wild oats, to carouse and enjoy my youth and I was complacent because I knew she loved me, and no matter how long I made her wait she would always be there. Faithful and ever true.”

As Victor leaves the cell, he speaks from the heart to Brad, “I have lost what I valued most. I will never see my angel again. I will speak to my uncle. He lashes out in his grief , but at the wrong person.”

* * *

 

Alençon and his mother are locked in her office. "It is unconscionable that the Béarnais still lives. Every day he draws breath he endangers our grip on the throne." She frets.

"So kill him, he has lived too long anyway." Alençon says carelessly.

She glares at him, disgusted by his utter stupidity. What use is it trying to discuss matters of state with a stupid boy like Alençon? At least Anjou has some native intelligence and shares my ideals.

“If only it was that simple, François Hercule. By some alchemy he's managed to get the king to be his friend. They’re inseparable. How?"

"Charles delights in acting perversely. He lives to thwart me. Look at the company he keeps: Le Rochefoucauld, Coligny, Lord Colbert. I truly believe he’d turn heretic if he could.”

“Le Rochefoucauld and Coligny are dead. We need not worry about them. And if the Duc de Rochechouart has his way, Lord Colbert will be doing penance for the death of Madeleine de Rochechouart for a very long time.”

“You know that he didn’t do it?”

“Of course he didn’t do it!” Catherine smirks. “Lord Colbert thought the world of Madeleine de Rochechouart, anyone with half a brain could see that!”

“You know who did?”

Catherine’s face cracks into a malevolent smile. “Of course.”

“Did they act under your orders, Maman?” he asks, half dreading the answer.

Catherine gives him an appraising look as if seeing his potential for the first time. 

“Why my son, perhaps there’s hope for you yet. Very good, François Hercule.” 

He shivers. As good as an admission of guilt.

 

"What can you tell us about the death of Madeleine de Rochechouart?"

Paré gingerly shifts the head of the corpse, which lies at an uncomfortable angle on the marble slab. Walt looks at the broken body of the young girl and presses a hand to his mouth, turning pale.

"Apart from the fact her neck was wrung like a capon?"

"Was that the cause of death, Monsieur Paré?" Ray asks. “Someone broke her neck?”

“No.”

“What was then?”

The doctor sighs. “There is a lot more than meets the eye to this case. Are you ready to see through the looking glass?”

Ray nods, determined to see this through. “We have to prove that Lord Colbert is innocent. Queen Catherine wants to pin the blame on him. Lord de Rochechouart practically accused him of the deed. Insulted him to his face. They locked him up on some trumped up charge. It’s not right.”

“Lord Colbert? Why on earth would he be involved in this?” Paré asks, his voice sharp with fear.

“It suits Catherine to damage our standing here.” He looks carefully at the door. Walt gets the hint and closes the door, bolting it behind him.

“If we tell you our concerns, do you swear to keep our discussions strictly within these walls?”

“I can keep a secret, gentlemen.” Paré says. “As you kept mine.”

“We’ve been investigating the massacre. Catherine agreed to it at first to placate Sir Francis and our mistress, but now she’s worried that we’ve got too close to something dark, so she’s decided to eliminate the threat. Brad is seen as our leader. He was an easy target for her spite.”

“Madeleine was drugged. There were fragments of the substance in her mouth. I’ve sent grains of it away for testing. I’m expecting a result tomorrow at the latest. Someone attempted to force her to swallow the substance. Do you see the bruising on her jaw and the mask area of her face?”

“Yes. Here?”

“That will be from where the murderer clamped her jaw shut to force her to swallow.” He opens her mouth, revealing her tongue which lolls out of her mouth. 

“Do you see the teeth marks on the tongue? ‘Tis difficult, for the tongue swells after death.”

Ray looks closely. “Yes. I see.”

“That would be where Madeleine struggled against her assailant.”

“There’s not much bruising anywhere else.”

“Well, if she had been murdered by someone bigger and stronger than her. Someone like Lord Colbert. Surely there would be more signs of a struggle. On the wrists as he attempted to restrain her, for example. Or the torso.”

“I would lay any money that she knew her assailant.” Paré tapped his fingers on the desk, deep in thought. “I wonder whether she was even attacked by a woman.”

“Attacked by a woman? A member of the esquadron?”

Paré threw up his hand helplessly.“I can’t say anything.”

Walt presses the physician. “-But that’s what you believe, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. “ he says shortly attempting to close down that area of discussion.

“Not whether justice is done?”

Paré gives him a short cynical laugh. “Justice ? In this place?”

* * *

 

Alençon's hand trembles as he takes the book from the queen-mother, and with some hesitation and fear, he enters Henry's apartment and places the volume on the polished pearwood table, open at the title-page.

_I have no choice. If I want to retain Maman’s love, then I must obey her in all things. Isn’t that what Charles says constantly? Obeying her ‘in thought, word and deed?’ Surely, he would understand, if he knew._

Stilling his conscience, although he cannot stop his traitorous heart from beating fast and his sallow pockmarked skin becoming unpleasantly clammy, he exits the room and shuts the door behind him. On his way out he sees Gillone de Goyon ushering herself into her mistress’s apartment.

“Monsieur d’Alençon-“ she sinks into a deep reverential curtsey. “My master and mistress are out. Can I help you, Sire?”

Guilt and terror make him sharp with the maid. “Have you been spying on me, Mlle de Thorigny?”

Her round grey eyes fly open with innocent shock.

“Tell me-“

“No, Sire! I haven’t, I swear.” She cries out, terrified by his grip on her arm. She struggles to get free, but Alençon will not budge. “You’re hurting me, Monsieur de Alençon, please-“

“You will tell no one I was here, will you?” he snarls, seizing her chin and forcing it up.

She’s too terrified to speak, reduced to shaking her head mutely.

“Well? Answer me, wench!” he pulls her hair and the girl gasps with pain and shock. In all honesty he’s starting to scare himself with his vehemence. He has no choice. The stakes are too high for him to fail at the last hurdle.

“No, I promise. Please let me go, sir!” she sobs with an effort, trembling. “My mouth is sealed. I will say nothing. Just let me go, Sire.”

 

But it was not Henry, but Charles, seeking his brother-in-law, who finds the book. Alençon finds the king reading.

"By heavens, this is an admirable book!" cries Charles. "Only it seems as if they had stuck the leaves together on purpose to conceal the wonders it contains. How very odd."

Alençon's first thought is to snatch the book from his brother and throw it into the fire, but he hesitates, staring at his brother with big dark eyes. Now that the task was at hand, he’s not sure if he has the stones to go through with it. After all, this isn’t some malicious little prank to irritate the king, his brother. 

This is murder. This is treason.

The king again moistens his finger and turns over a page. Alençon can barely repress a flinch, he can feel the noose around his neck but Charles is so engrossed with his book, he doesn’t notice anything amiss. "Let me finish this chapter," he says, "-and then tell me what you please. I have already read fifty pages. What a book!"

"He must have tasted the poison five-and-twenty times," thinks Alençon, the chill greasy sweat of fear breaking out on his forehead. "Maman said that three tastes would be enough to kill. He is a dead man!"


	29. Peace at Any Price

"Are you going to allow these foreigners to speak to me like this?” He appeals to Charles and Catherine. “To accuse me of such crimes? Murder? Attempted murder, conspiracy and blackmail?" he turns to Brad, trying to intimidate him into backing down, but Brad meets his gaze. “By God, I would call you out if you were worth it. Who are you to judge my actions?”

“Your actions are treasonous, and have endangered the good standing between their country and ours.” 

De Guise turns to his king astonished at his rebuke, amazed that he refuses to back him up. “Sire-“

“Be grateful they merely seek justice and not revenge.” Catherine says in a voice of pure ice.

Charles butts in, eager to assert his dominance. "I see no reason to protect you if have broken the rules. You, de Guise are not above the law. You and your sister should remember that."

De Guise turns to Catherine trying to get her to stand up for them. “You cannot stand aside and allow Charles to shame me like this in front of the foreigners. Surely you know that their accusations are nothing but fustian? Why would I plot against a foreign queen?”

Sir Francis goes in for the kill. He has nothing more to lose. “Why on Earth not? If it advances your family, you are ruthless enough that you would try anything. Especially since your kinswoman Mary Stuart would be the one to benefit from the throne of England. It would be a royal takeover, wouldn’t it? England, Scotland and France within your rapacious grasp.” He shakes his head. “My God, does your family’s ambition know no earthly bounds?”

Charles pulls her aside. “Maman, we must confer.”

“You will excuse us gentlemen, won’t you? My son and I must make a decision on what is to be done.” She sweeps out of the room Charles trailing in her wake.

“What is it that you were so keen to tell me about de Guise?” she says as soon as she has closed the door.

“This is our chance to rid ourselves of him. Let him be brought to justice for his crimes. Don’t you see? He has run riot for far too long, and it damages us in the eyes of the world if we condone what he is up to.”

“You think this is good policy, Charles?” she asks mildly, sounding him out. She splays her fingers, letting the light catch on her fine rings and making them sparkle.

“It is time de Guise was shown who is the true ruler of France. We cannot live uncomfortably with over-mighty subjects. Was that not one of the first lessons of statecraft you taught me?”

Catherine regards her son with new eyes. She nods with approval.“My son. At last you think as a true Medici should. You father would have been so proud of you, as I am right now. Oh, my dear boy-“

“You will stand by my decision? You will not seek to undermine my plan for justice?”

“Of course not. Did I not say I was proud of you?”

 

“Everything is lost. I cannot believe her treachery!” rages de Guise as soon as he gets back to the Hotel de Guise. The place is practically deserted in the wake of the family’s disgrace and fall from royal favour. Even Catherine, Claude and Henriette have moved out. “She stitched me up, that Medici snake, then she threw me to the wolves. Never trust a Valois, never!”

“They’ll come for us here. They arrest me, lock me in prison. I can’t go to prison. I won’t survive. Henri, you must do something.”

“Will you cease your caterwauling and let me think, woman?”  
Anne-Marie fall silent, though she still trembles at the thought of justice.

“I know we will ask sanctuary at the Cathedral. Catherine and Charles cannot touch us there. The church which we have laboured for will protect us.”

* * *

Nançay leads the team to the Cathedral. "I cannot lend you many men, but I will station a few outside the building to cut off any attempts to escape. You understand the situation, of course?"

"We must take both of them alive," Sir Francis says, cocking his pistol, making sure it was correctly primed. "They're no good to us dead. We need hard incontrovertible proof of their scheming. Remember that, Master Trombley!"

He pouts at his boss's restrictions but manages to restrain his tongue for now. 

“We will use as much force as we need, but we must remember our restrictions.”

"We have to get ourselves admitted inside the Cathedral. If the priests have granted them sanctuary 'twill not be easy to winkle them out."

"How can they have been granted sanctuary ? After their crimes?"

Sir Francis snorts, a scornful sound. "They're Catholics. I'm sure they paid enough funds to act as penance.” 

“Anne-Marie is a ruthless murderess. And de Guise is equally as guilty of plotting against our mistress and threatening Nate.”

I have no doubt the de Guise family are wealthy enough to buy themselves into Heaven. I don’t think the concept of hypocrisy really troubles either of them."

The priest is troubled, after a careful application of Sir Francis's charm and powers of persuasal, he is persuaded to stifle his own conscience and betray the pair who sought sanctuary within the hallowed walls.

“Well, you are working in the king’s interest. You are bringing them to justice in a civilised fashion.”

“Of course,” Brad assures the priest, not thinking about Trombley and his propensity to sudden violence; “All we desire is to question he and his sister about their roles in the murders.”

“I cannot condone bloodshed with these walls,” frets the monk wringing his fat clammy hands. “This is a House of God and should be treated as such.”

“We will respect the sanctity of the church, I promise.”

 

We have to take them alive, those are our orders.

They file in, heading toward the Great Nave. “We must keep our weapons sheathed in the House of the Lord. You heard the priest-”

“With that murderous bitch on the loose?”

“Sir, we don’t know if she’s armed. It’s more than likely.” Brad says, urging caution.

Sir Francis relents. “Very well.”

As they approach the altar, the looming shadows close around them, barely unrelieved by the sparse beeswax candles dotted round. The team try to move as soundless as possible on the stone flags.

“My Lord de Guise. My lady? Come out; I wish to speak to you both-“

Brad hears the click of the mechanism. “Down! All of you!” he shouts as he pulls Sir Francis down to the ground as a shot rings out, missing the team.

“So they’re armed then,” says Walt, getting his breath back. “Great. You did say you wanted no violence, didn’t you Sir Francis? What do we do if they’ve decided to put up a fight?”

Their master looks grim as he rapidly reassesses their strategy. “Let us hope they are not that stupid.”

Sir Francis tries again. “Monsieur de Guise, come out. We must speak with you and your sister regarding the murders of Madeleine de Rochechouart and Padre Tolomeo-“

“It’s over, de Guise. Give yourselves up, and you may still be able to find some clemency.”

She fires the pistol again and breaks the stained window. The shattered glass rains down in a lethal shower. The team duck for cover trying to avoid the flying deadly shards. 

Her voice rings round the space. Brad can hear the hysteria in her tone. “I swear you will never take me alive!”

“What do we do now? She’s shown she is prepared to shoot to kill. Do we sit here waiting for our stones to be blown clean off by a crazed madwoman?”

Trombley is armed to the teeth, indignant that they have to take them alive. “Just give me a clear shot, boss. I can take them both out. I know I can. Two clean shots to the head and heart, that’s all I ask-“

“If anyone can do it, it’s him. Maybe we should let him have a shot.” Ray mutters. “God, I feel dirty saying that!”

“She’s a liability. She has to be taken out.” He insists, starting to sound a bit petulant. “My Lord Walsingham we cannot be afraid to act-“

“Listen to yourself, Trombley! It is not for us to deal out death and judgement. Not here.”

“If we don’t , then she will. This isn’t a game to her, sir.”

Brad draws his sword and squares up to de Guise.

De Guise swing wildly at Brad, wild with blood lust. I have to be clever and outwit him. 

“Don’t make any sudden moves, Sir. We have your sister.”

“You wouldn’t dare touch her!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, my lord de Guise.”

“Henri-“ she cries out, Sir Francis’s pistol pressed into the side of her head.

“All we ask is that you come quietly with us and submit yourself to the justice of the court for your crimes. Do not fool yourself for one minute that I would not do it.”

* * *

Walt walks past the alcove on his way to meet with Ray, when he sees two shadows embracing. He stops, not wanting to be seen. It’s Anjou and his mother clinging on to each other.

“How long will I have to stay away? Will I ever see you again, my dearest mother. Light and love of my life?”

She strokes his face, showering it with kisses, not aware that they are being watched. Walt feels uncomfortable bearing witness to this. There’s something not right in this excess of grief. 

“Be brave, my conqueror. I will bring you back to your homeland soon.”

“How? He will never allow me to return to you. Not while he is alive and still king. I have been outmanoeuvred by him!” His voice rises in impotent fury. “Charles the simpleton!”

“Trust me, my dearest son.” Catherine soothes her dear boy. “You will return in triumph soon. When have I ever let you down?”

 _When have I ever let you down?_ A chill runs down Walt’s spine as he realises the meaning of their words in the alcove. It’s time he and Ray got the hell out of there, got back to base and made their report to Walsingham and then left this forsaken place before they all got trapped in the web.

* * *

Charles is happier and more triumphant than the court has ever seen him. Ray thinks as he glides through the crowds at the going away party for Anjou before he departs for his new kingdom in Poland. By some sleight of hand, Ray has managed to gatecrash, and not only keep his ear to the ground for more gossip but to enjoy the hospitality of the Valois, and very nice it is too.

“Now we are all kings. You in Poland, Anjou. What a great honour they have bestowed on you, my brother! Alençon in Navarre, wouldn’t that be great? Henri, stay with me as my true and honourable brother. I shall reward you for the loss of your kingdom beyond your wildest dreams.”

“What does he mean by that? Is he going to be stupid enough to make him his heir?” thinks Ray. Damn, I need to get back to base and report back. Where the hell is Walt, daft eejit? He ought to be here. Sir Francis needs to know of Charles’s wild plans.

Alençon’s face is white with anger, resembling a murderously spoilt child. “Why would you do this, Charles? What do I want with a miserable little kingdom like Navarre?”

“You might not remember that day at the hunt where I nearly died but I certainly do. If not for the valour of Sir Brad Colbert and Henri de Navarre, I would have died under the tusks of that boar. And you, you shot my steed so I had no method of escape. Oh yes François, I haven’t forgotten.”

“I’m sorry you ever had cause to doubt my fealty to you, my brother.” He grits out. “Lord knows I am ever and always will be your true subject.”

Charles smiles, somewhere between indulgence and ruthlessness. “Alençon, I am not a fool though you believe I may act like one. It is not safe having you in my court any-more. Don’t take it personally. Think of it as a pre-emptive strike, Hercule. My life or yours.”

 

‘Charles-‘ she sobs.

He walks up to her struggling form and looks into her eyes. She sees the gleam of madness in his golden hazel eyes and the cold grip of despair encircles her heart. He’s gone. I can expect no mercy from him.

‘Is this true? He asks. She hears the taut discord of cruelty in his voice.

‘Please, Charles.’ She says, still trying to reach him.

He stands back and watches Anjou and Alençon manhandle her to the floor, his face completely blank. She can’t understand how he can disassociate himself from this outrage.

‘I was nothing but kind to you, Charles. How can you stand aside and watch this?-‘

‘Kindness? Is that what you call it?’

She draws back, stung by his bitterness. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’ She says, face white with fear.

‘When you lay with me, when you kissed me, was any of it true? Or did you kiss me with a lie in your sweet faithless mouth?’

She bends her head in shame, unable to face him and the things they did.

‘Did you ever love me, Margot?’ He says with the cruel candour of a child.

She raises her head to look him in the eye. “How can you ask me that? You know what we did was wrong. We have all paid the price for our youthful mistakes. And I have paid the heaviest price of all-’

He is angered by her words. ‘Whatever you do to her, do not mark her. I would not have people talk ill of us.’ He says coldly to his brothers.

“You can’t leave? You can’t leave me here, with them. Charles, please I’m sorry. Have mercy on me. I have done nothing. I am innocent. Charlot, Please don’t leave me here. You know I fear him. Charlot-”

He brushes her hands off and walks away, slamming the door behind him.

Anjou holds her up against the wall, a leer on his face. She's kicking and screaming, wildly lashing out at her brothers and de Guise. No one makes a move to stop them, shocked by the revelation of the Valois dirty little family secrets. No one ever thought that he would talk about it in public, that he would take such terrible action.

“Tell me Marguerite, what made you help the English?” his voice is deadly as he seizes her chin.

Margot braces with fear, but she stiffens her spine and refuses to show it.

“I have no idea of what you are talking about, brother.” She replies, a challenge in her eyes.

“Really, my sister?” he says ironically as he leans forward, a cruel smile on his reddened plush mouth. She flinches as he comes near. Anjou’s dark eyes shine with a mad light as he menaces her, enjoying her fear. “You didn’t help them break into mother’s office? Delve into secrets they had no right to uncover?”

Though her heart is beating frantically from behind her busk, any sign of weakness would be fatal. She gave her word to Brad, Lord Walsingham and Nate no matter what; she would not betray them to her family. _I do this for them, who have tried to be my friends, but Henri too. We need them._

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of. I haven’t done-“

“I think you are a born liar, Marguerite. Mother does as well. She knows everything. Did you think you’d been ever so scheming, ever so careful? How did you get into the room after hours?”  
“I have no idea what has put this preposterous scheme into your head.” She starts, trying to remain on her dignity.

“Don’t make things worse by lying!” he shouts, right up in her face. “You are a traitor! If I had my way, you would be locked in the Châtelet with the rest of the common rabble. To be used as the whore you really are.”

He brings out a bunch of keys. Margot recognises them, but tries hard to conceal it.

“Explain this set of keys.”

“Where did you steal these from? They open my private caskets. You went through my property to accuse me of heaven knows what-“

He interrupts her brutally. “You lie, Marguerite! I tried every casket in your apartment and none of them fitted. It was strange though that these keys fitted the locks to Mother’s office very well.”

She runs to the door, but de Guise blocks the way, pushing her back into the centre of the room. He grips her arms and pushes her against the wall.

He pulls her skirts right up to her waist, revealing the bite mark on her thigh for all to see, the dark shadow between her thighs. Margot struggles against this indignity, but Anjou gives her no quarter, using his height and strength to subdue her.

"Do you want to know how my dear sister got this scar on her thigh? I did it!" His grin broadens with renewed cruelty. “Tell them how you got these scars, Margot-“ he crows to de Guise and Alençon, a crazed look in his dark eyes."I marked her so that she and everyone will always know that she is mine!"

She looks up at him with wounded sorrowful eyes. “Why would you do this, Alexandre?”

“You haven’t got your gentle little troubadour to save you now.” He sneers as she flails and struggles frantically, her slippered foot connecting with his lower stomach. “Do you remember my sister, my sweet whore? How you ran to him and begged him to protect you?”

She spits in his face and he lashes out, backhanding her across the face so hard she falls to her knees.

She shakes her head frantically, as if trying to disperse the terrible memories threatening to overwhelm her. “No! No! Not this.”

There's no sound except for her harsh weeping. “I am married now! You can’t do this!”

“We can do whatever we like.” His cruel smile broadens. “Perhaps, for old time’s sake-“ he lets his voice trail off dangerously as one jewelled hand moves up her inner thigh. “-To teach you once and for all who is master.”

Her teeth bare into a desperate snarl as she jerks away from him in disgust and hatred. “I will not ever let you touch me again!”

The group look on at Anjou's madness, paralysed by shock and disgust.

"Anjou please, we are not savages." Nançay pleads, "Some things should not be revealed in public. Let your sister go-"

Anjou turns to his lover in outrage and knocks him down. "I will not tell you again, Guy-Dominic!" he snarls, his teeth bared, "Do not interfere in what does not concern you. You may be my favourite, but you will learn this lesson from me."

"You can't do this, Anjou!"

His eyes flash with madness as he stands over him. "You cover for her and lie all the time. Encouraging her in her licentiousness. Colluding as she fucks every man in Paris. Did she offer herself to you too? For your loyalty?"

"I protect the princess, which is my job, Sire,” Nançay says with dignity, despite the fact he has been knocked to the floor.

“What the devil is going on here?” The door opens and Henri stands at the threshold looking furiously at his brother in law. Catherine is right behind him.

“Shut the door please, Henri. There’s no need for the rabble to know all our secrets, is there?” Catherine says coolly.

Margot looks at Henri, terrified, pleading with him to stand up for her at last. She cries out to him, one hand reaching out futilely towards him. “Please let us leave for Navarre. Let us go home. Away from this terrible place. How can you stand here and watch this? Knowing what they did in here?”

Henri turns away from her, pulling his hand from her grasp, unwilling to get involved.

“What does he mean by ‘You are his’, Margot?” he says coldly.

She shakes her head, unable to look at him or speak for shame.

His face is drained of blood as the scales of disillusion are torn from his eyes. “Dear God. Coligny and my mother were right, all this time. You forced me to marry your Catholic Princess for peace-“ he spits the phrase out scornfully, as if it burns his mouth on the way out. “-and all the time, she was nothing but sullied goods! Which one of you sick bastards had her first?”

Anjou smiles in unpleasant triumph. “For once, it wasn’t me.” He smirks, eager to slip the blade in further. “Why don’t you ask your wife here? Or Charles? Ask him to tell you the truth!”

Henri reels, his face grey under his swarthy complexion. “Charles? What?”

“Since you’re such good friends with Charles, ask him who took her ‘virtue’? I merely followed in his illustrious footsteps as a good younger brother should-“. He laughs at the appalled look on Henri’s face as the sordid truth dawns on him.

“Basta! You will not speak of this here!” Catherine rises from her seat by the fire. “This has gone too far, all of you.” 

She turns to Henri. “Take your wife away and talk some sense into her. We will have peace in this court.”

“Ah, yes. Peace.” Henri says bitterly. “Peace at any price, eh?”

* * *

“Henri, we must talk." 

Though his face is stricken, he does not move.

"I cannot do anything to save you, ma cherié Margot." He says without looking at her. It’s that lack of eye contact that upsets her. However acrimonious their married relationship he’s always looked her in the eye and engaged her. This frigid avoidance is unbearable, like a whiplash on her flesh.

She looks at him, the betrayal plain on her stark pale face. "Henri, do I mean nothing to you? I'm your wife. I saved your life!"

"To do so, I had to betray my own faith, the faith of my poor dead mother Jeanne d’Albret murdered by yours, the faith of my people. I am little more than a Prisoner of War in your family's house. How can I interfere in your family's method of justice? However brutal it may be?" He looks drained and defeated, as if saying these words is a price he can barely afford to pay. 

She cannot believe his words. She doesn’t want to believe them. She knows he resents her after the death of Charlotte and their disputes about the divorce, but would he shame her by taking it that far? Would he leave her a subject of her brother’s mercy for the rest of her life? 

She has to leave her family’s court now. It’s a matter of survival now. She understands Nate’s bitter words the day he left her and broke her heart: ‘Someday there will come a time where you have to say “No.” For your own sanity, you have to draw the line. I’m sorry Margot, I’ve reached mine...I can’t do this any more-’. 

He was right. I can’t do this any-more. I can’t live like this here at my family’s court.

She swore to herself she wouldn’t plead with him, but her pride is dissolving in the face of the prospect of living with her mother’s ruthless scheming.

“I’m not asking you to save me. I’m asking you to stand by me. Let Navarre be a haven for me. A new start-” 

He shakes his head.

“You blame me. You don’t even know the truth, yet you blame me for what happened, don’t you?” She moves to grab his wrist as he shies away. “I disgust you.” She says in a small heartbroken voice.

“If only I could have taken you home to Navarre after the wedding like any other groom...A life of our own, that was truly ours. You could have been Queen of our little court in the mountains. We might have had children one day...” His voice trails away wistfully.

“Can we not have this still, Henri? I can change. I can try to be the woman that you want. Give me a chance. I may not have loved you, but I have always been loyal. I have never betrayed you, my husband. I saved your life. Please -” 

“No, Margot.” He says wearily, turning his face away from her. She touches his face as if to force him to see her, to engage with her once again but he flinches away from her touch as if she’d burned him. 

He cannot bear for me even to touch him. Oh God, it’s over. He doesn’t want me.

“Do I not deserve a happy ending too? After all this time?”

Henri looks at her gravely, a young man forced to grow up too soon and become hard for his own good. “You do, my sweet Margot. But good people don’t always get what they deserve.”

‘I let myself believe in you, and you betrayed me. With Charlotte, and now when I need you-‘

"I'm sorry, Margot. I cannot be the man you want me to be.” He cups the side of her face, his hand wet with her tears. “I pity you, Marguerite.”

She draws back from him resentfully. “You pity me? Why? Do you think I need your pity?”

“The only man who ever loved you for yourself, not as a Valois or a princess of the blood, you had to send away to save him. It was always him, wasn’t it? Nathaniel Fick. Not de Guise.”

She nods her head, miserable in defeat. “Yes, I loved him-” she says softly. “But I couldn’t give him what he needed. I couldn’t keep him by my side-“

* * *

She's running down the corridor, tears streaming down her face, obscuring her vision and running into her mouth. The only thought she has is safety at any price.

She's heading up to Nate's quarters even though she doesn't know whether he'll be there. She just needs to be somewhere familiar, somewhere safe.

She pulls at the door, but it’s locked. She pounds on the door getting more and more agitated at the echoing silence. “Open the door! Please? I need you-“

There’s no sound from the deserted room and she remembers too late that she had to send Nate away for his own safety.

“No, No!-“ she clings to the door. Thumping her head against the wood in frustration and sorrow. Her sobs come up in agonising terrified gasps.

He’s not here. He’s gone forever. Her only true friend, the only one who knew the truth and never judged her for it cast away to save him from de Guise’s malice, leaving her so very alone. The simple fact breaks her fragile resolve. She sinks to the floor, sobbing.

As Charles lets himself back into Henri and Margot’s apartments, he is alone. He notices his dog has got there before him and has started to attack one of the books. It’s that new hunting treatise Henri got, which he read through that lunchtime. There are chewed and torn pages everywhere.

“Actéon, you bad, bad dog! You know Margot hates it when you make a mess and damage her property.” He turns to chastise the dog, but it’s lying on the ground whining in pain and foaming at the mouth most piteously.

“Actéon?”

With one final piteous howl, the dog’s eyes roll back into his head and it’s limbs grow stiff. There’s still half-chewed pages trapped in his jaws.

“No, not my dear Actaéon! Not my dog! Why?”

A terrible thought occurs to him as his own throat starts to burn. His hand flies up to clutch at it in terror. This isn’t hypochondria, sheer imagination. Something is dreadfully wrong here.

What if? What if the book had been poisoned? 

He can hear Henri making his way to the room, whistling jauntily as he comes.

“Henri!” he rasps, sinking to the floor. “Help me, brother!”

As Henri entered, he finds Charles on his knees, his face drawn and white with pain.

“Your Grace?” He springs forwards to aid him. “Dear God, your Grace what happened to you?”  
“The book!” He rasps, his eyes wide with terror. “I came here earlier. You were out, but there was a book on venery. I couldn’t resist having a read, though the pages were stuck together. And now when I return to find you, my poor dog had chewed the pages and met a terrible end.”

Henri pieces together what Charles has told him and his blood runs cold. Someone has just made yet another attempt on his life. He thinks of the fatal lip balm. Charlotte’s terror as she met her end. He has no proof, but right now all he can think of is Catherine and her connection with René. “Your mother will stop at nothing to harm me and mine.”

Charles’s eyes are open wide with sudden terrible understanding. “You believe this is-“

“Who else has the services of René the Florentine at her command? Has a taste for technically spectacular deaths involving poison? This has her grubby fingerprints all over this.”

“My brother-“ he gasps.  
Henri tries to piece together what he is trying to say. “Your Brother?”

“François... I have never told anyone of this. I didn’t dare.” Charles clutches at him, pulling him close to keep the secret safe.

Henri is shocked. There was always whispers of the young king’s mysterious death all those years ago, but no one had ever dared to publicly make the connection.

“Has she done this before? Charles-“

“The official tale was that François died of an ear infection. And yet Mother deliberately delayed Paré from treating him, until it was too late to save him.”

“This was done on purpose?” Henri presses, excitement and horror dawning in his eyes.

Charles nods, the sweat breaking out on his pale face. He gives a convulsive gulp, his prominent Adam’s apple working furiously.

“How?”

“A poison poured into his ear while he slept. A bribe paid to a servant for his loyalty.”

“How did you know this for certain? Is this what you suspect?”

Charles shakes his head.

“Did she confess, your Grace?”  
Charles’s face contorts with another wave of pain, his features twisted into a grimace.“Don’t you get it, Henri? I saw everything.”

Henri can’t believe what he’s just heard. A terrible abyss opens up in his understanding. He doesn’t want to believe Catherine is capable of such treachery, even as deep down in his heart he knows this is the truth. To preserve the Valois clan and their royal prerogative Catherine would commit any crime. Even murder.

“I was in my brother’s apartment. Marie-Dauphine was kind to me, treated me like a younger brother. Nate and I used to spend time in her company, listening avidly to her songs and tales.”

“One night Francis was asleep in his room. I hid as my mother’s servants searched for me. I didn’t want to leave my brother. I knew Nurse Madelon would be upset but Anjou was bullying me badly at the time. Pathetic, isn’t it? To be scared of your younger brother. So when I heard someone approach, I hid behind the tapestry hoping I would not be discovered.

“What did you see, my lord?”

“Petrucci entered the room. He poured a vial into my slumbering brother’s ear.”

Henri thinks back to the details of François’s death. “The earache-“

“He saw me! I know he told my mother. I have been afraid ever since. If she could do this to my brother; crowned King of France what might she do to me unless I obeyed her in word, thought and deed?”

“Dear Lord, this is insanity. How have you lived under the pressure of this secret?” A gleam of understanding dawns in his shrewd dark eyes. “This is the cause of your troubles, isn’t it?”

Charles looks at candidly, sighing with relief as he unburdens his secret at last. “How could I ever have lived a normal life with this hanging over my head? Everyone thought I was a madman, too weak to rule and destroying the country by my weakness. How could I have gainsaid her when my life is wholly in her hands?”

“She can’t keep doing this. She has to be stopped.”

“How? How do we stop her?” Charles says.

When Walt finds her, she’s a heap on the ground, shuddering and gasping.

“My lady? What are you doing here?”

She looks up at him, her face all blubbered and woebegone.

“Walt.” Her eyes brim with fresh tears. “Walt- I need you badly. I have no right to ask, after all that has happened.”

“What’s going on?” he asks, kneeling on the floor and sweeping her dishevelled hair away from her face. “Why are you crying outside Nate’s door?”

He notices she is shivering violently. He doesn’t think anything of wrapping his cloak around her, holding her close muttering loving nonsense in her ear like he would to a spooked horse.

“Anjou has lost his mind after Charles sent him to Poland to take the throne there. He, de Guise and Alençon attacked me in front of my mother. In front of everyone. Humiliated me. And Henri stood aside and watched.”

“Henri was there?”

There’s no hiding the bitter edge to her voice. “Yes, he saw everything.”

Walt’s tender heart is appalled. “He watched your brothers humiliate you?”

“It seems he could not bear to hear some truth.”

“My lady?” They both turn, defiantly clinging on to each other. It’s Nançay, a bruise blooming on his cheekbone.

“Please don’t get the wrong idea. I found her in the corridor crying.”

He approaches Margot, “Are you hurt, my lady? I am truly sorry I wasn’t able to stop Anjou.”

Walt hears the remorse in his tone.

“You tried, Nançay. That’s all I could ever ask.” She says wearily.

“Monsieur de Nançay, what did her brothers do to her?” Walt asks.

Guy looks down, ashamed. “They uncovered her nakedness. Accused her in public of aiding and abetting you English. She denied it and stood by you all. But Anjou was intent upon his revenge. I have never seen him like this. She isn’t safe here.”

Walt makes up his mind. It might be rash and Brad will probably have his guts, but he has to do something. Whatever happened between them, whatever lies lie in their past she needs him now.

“Listen to me. How did you leave the castle on your nightly journeys?” he urges.

“There are a couple of secret exits. A couple of horses were sent there for our use.”

“Can you organise this for us? In secret?” he says turning to Nançay. “I have to get her out of here.”

Nançay nods. “I’ll see what I can do. You’re an honourable man, Lord Hasser. God bless you.”

 

True to his word, Nançay has three horses saddled and ready for their use. 

Walt gets on his horse after helping Margot onto her steed. He hopes she’ll stay on long enough to them to reach their destination. She looks ready to drop, her face drawn and bruised. Walt grits his teeth and stares straight ahead, for he knows if he thinks about how she got that bruise across her cheek, how Anjou struck her and accused her of fraternising with the team he would turn back and smash that cruel painted face in.

“Do you mind letting me in on the plan here?” Ray asks. “Have you actually got a plan, Walt?”

“We’re going home.” His voice sounds terser than he expected.

“To Sir Henry’s house? What about Brad? Godfather? Sir Francis?”

Walt sighs. “We’re done here, Ray. De Guise has been banished, but I suspect he’ll return as soon as Charles loses the throne. Anne-Marie is in custody, on trial for the death of Madeleine. De Nevers is leaving for Poland with Anjou. All we could have done to bring the de Guises to justice has been done. It’s time we cut our losses here and headed home.”


	30. The Dark Secret of the Valois

They’ve ridden like the wind to Walsingham’s house.

“They won’t want me here.” Margot frets. “I’m putting you all at a terrible risk-“

Walt reassures her, “You weren’t safe at court, you said so yourself. We’ll take the risk, my lady. I won’t abandon you.“

He knocks on the door, glad to be home at last. Once he is away from the cloying atmosphere of court, the pitfalls and false smiles, he feels as if he can now breathe freely.

“Who is it?” calls Ursula from an upstairs window. “It’s the dead of night. What do you want?”

“It’s Sir Walter and Ray. Please let us in. It’s important.”

He can hear her grumbling behind the door as she fumbled with the locks. “This had better be good, Sir Walt-Oh!” Ursula stares at Walt and the princess on the doorstep.

“I shouldn’t be here. I should go.”

Ursula takes one look at Margot’s bruised face, still streaked with tears. When she next speaks, her voice is gentler than the men have ever heard.

“Come in, and welcome, my lady.” She lets them in and takes the cloak.

“I hope I did the right thing, Mistress Ursula. We wouldn’t have disturbed you, but things are all fucked up at the palace and there was nowhere else we could think of to go.”

She doesn’t even note his foul language, for once. “You did the right thing, Sir Walt.”

 

They move into the kitchen. Ursula heats up a posset, adding a hefty tot of brandy to each of the cups. “Drink all of it, it’ll put some much needed strength into your bones, dear. You too, Sir Walt. You look chilled to the marrow.”

Sir Francis pads downstairs in a nightshirt and cap, bare feet poking out on the bare stone flags. If he is surprised to see Princess Marguerite in his kitchen at an unholy hour of night, he doesn’t show it. “My Lady-“ he says, bowing. “Welcome to our humble quarters.”

By now the entire house has been roused. Trombley, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Espera, stretching his shoulders and making them creak from stiffness. Rudy and Pappy helping Ursula prepare food for them.

Nate stops in the doorway and stares, as if he can’t believe she is sat there in the kitchen. Brad feels his hand tighten around his.

“Daisy?”

“Nate?” she moves as if to run into his arms and then stops dead.

Brad looks at his face and he never wants to see the horror and sadness he can read there ever again. He loves Nate and he cannot bear the thought of him being in such pain. He sees Nate’s eyes stray to his face and he knows what he has to do.

‘Go to her.’ He says quietly.

Nate searches Brad’s face, doubting for a moment.

“She needs you.”

‘Thank you.’ He whispers.

“What did they do to you?” Nate says, holding her close.

“I can’t say it. I can’t start.” She says into his shoulder, a shudder racking her body. His arms wrap around her convulsively and Brad has to wonder who’s comforting who at this moment. “Oh God help me, will I never be free of this shame?”

He strokes her hair, an intimate gesture not lost on any of them.“I know ‘tis hard to talk of this. But we are among friends here. Good honest people. They will not judge us, Daisy.”

She looks into his eyes as if she desperately wants to trust him, to believe he is right.

“’Tis not right to keep this locked up inside. Corroding everything. Let it all out and release yourself. We have been bound by this too long.”

“You’ll help me?” she says vulnerably in a very small voice.

He nods as he releases her from his arms. She reaches for his hand and clutches it as if it were the only thing anchoring her.

Nate addresses them all. “What you all have to understand is that we went through these horrors together. We were so young. So please try to understand. It is not a good tale we tell.”

Brad sees their hands clasped tightly. Sees the two of them suffering this together. He understands what Nate told him, though now it seemed so long ago. That even though he knew his role as Walsingham’s agent, he could not live with her since childhood and not feel anything at all. The bonds of the past are not so easily broken.

‘The whole thing started because of Charles. His tutor used to put terrible ideas into his head. To terrify him with things that just made his illness worse. You know that he is ill, don’t you? That he has suffered for a long time, ever since we were young-‘

Brad nods. He remembers the day he saw Charles having one of his fits. How long had the king teetered on the edge of sanity and what effect had it had on the family?

‘His tutors, instructed by my mother used to play upon his fears, corrupting him. He sought comfort in my bed. It was the only place he felt safe. The only place he could sleep. At first he just wanted to hold me-’

‘You slept with Charles? You slept with your own brother?’ Ursula interjects, horrifies and amazed by what Margot has revealed.

‘There’s no excuse for it. I know what I did with Charles was wrong, and I risked hell for it. But he needed me so, and he was my brother and my king. He was gentle and kind and so grateful I fooled myself that I was doing some good, somehow. The lies we tell ourselves every day in order to live-’

There’s a horrified silence in the room as Margot tells this tale.

‘We couldn’t keep this a secret, not in that palace. Anjou found about Charles and I. Whatever the king had, he always desired. He determined he would take what his brother had. And Anjou, he was not kind-‘

She shudders, but keeps on doggedly. The tale is out in the open now, and it has to be told.

“However ruthless Catherine is, she surely wouldn’t have allowed this to happen.”

When Margot replies, her voice is bitter. “I tried to warn Mother about Anjou, but she never seemed to see anything bad in what he did. He was her little God. He always will be.”

There’s no hiding the resentful betrayal in her voice. It’s easier for Brad to understand her now. All her life she has been betrayed by those she ought to trust. No wonder she reacted badly to Nate’s desire to leave court and be with him.

‘I ran to the only place where I felt safe in the entire palace; to Nate’s room. I banged on the door and begged him to take me in and hide me from Anjou and his gang.’

‘They broke down the door and wrecked the place, breaking my lute and harpsichord, tearing hangings from the walls. Turning the room upside down in their search for Margot.’

Brad can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been for the young Nate. Those spoilt arrogant aristocratic thugs!

‘He dragged me out from under the bed. I was struggling, spitting, screaming and scratching. He was angry that I would not yield to him even now.’

Nate took up the tale again. “I pleaded with them not to hurt her but they laughed in my face. They were drunk on alcohol, power and lust. 'She will give herself to us and our will, or I swear I will hurt him and I will make you watch.’ Anjou said to me. By the crazed look in his eyes, I knew he meant every word.”

‘I was torn. I loved Nate, but I couldn’t bear Anjou. But I didn’t want my brother to hurt Nate. He was obsessed by him, his beauty, and his sweet nature. He wanted to possess him body and soul, to make him one of his ‘Petit Mignons’. I couldn’t let him do that.’

‘So you gave yourself to him?’

She closes her eyes. They see the tears clinging to her lashes.

‘You don’t have to talk of this if you don’t want to, my lady. It must have been very hard for you.’ Ursula says gently.

‘No, Nate’s right. Some things fester inside until you talk about them and expose them to the light. I know this is what I have to do. My penance.”

And what a terrible price she pays, even now.

“My Lady, what did your brother do to you?”

Her voice is a low flayed whisper as the tears start to fall down her cheeks. “Anjou, de Nevers and d’ Angoulême held me down and took it in turns to violate me.” She starts to cry in earnest now, lost in terrible remembrance. “They did this in front of Nate. To punish us both for daring to stand up to him.”

“Anjou put his hands on me while the others –“. He stops, unable to voice it for a moment. “-He put his hands into my hose and stroked my pintle. Until my own body betrayed me, made me complicit with their wickedness. I was meant to protect her. My mistress, the girl I loved and adored since we were children. And I failed-“ his voice broke. He pulls himself together for her sake. “So you see, it is not the first time he has done this. That day in the garden was just one of many days where he took appalling liberties.”

“Why?” asks Ursula, absolutely aghast. When Nate turns to face her, he looks weary. They can see just how much this secretive dangerous life at the court has cost him and what price he has paid over and over again to serve Sir Francis.

“Because he is Prince. Because he is Catherine’s favourite, and because he could.”

Brad is overcome with disgust by Nate’s own cynical revelation, the bile rising in his throat leaving a bitter after-taste on his tongue. The murderous unreasoning rage to hurt Anjou for doing this to Nate and Margot wells up inside him like a sour tide and he has to clench his fists against his reaction, which is to ride straight back into that viper pit and call out Anjou. He’s a reasonable man. He prides himself on his icy control over his emotion, but this tale disgusts him to his core. He understands now how a terrible experience like this would affect both of them. How it would bind them together as sure as chains.

‘Nançay had just been promoted to head of the Swiss Guards. He heard the noise on his patrols and broke it up. He dragged us to my mother’s office and reported us.”

‘Catherine demanded to see me. She asked me what had happened. I told the truth, I saw no point in lying. She listened to me without saying a word, and then dismissed me coldly.’

‘The next day, Catherine asked to see me again. I thought I would be dismissed or worse. I had prepared to tell Sir Francis that I had failed him and had been sent away from court, even though for Margot’s sake I would not talk of what had happened.’

‘She smiled as she asked me to sit down. I admit, I trembled as I did so.’

‘What did she do?’ asked Ursula.

‘She started plying me with presents: a lute made out of finest pearwood and inlaid with mother of pearl to replace the one that Anjou had destroyed in his fury; a harpsichord with the sun and moon motif of the very latest design which she knew I had coveted for the longest time, my humble room was redecorated and the damage made good; clothes of the latest mode, she promised I would not lose my position, that if I wanted, I could stay with my mistress after she had arranged a long trip to Italy for me to study with the greatest musicians of the age. But all of this bounty had a price.’ 

Nate’s voice was bitter even as the corner of his mouth curls into that cynical smile. ‘I was not to talk of what had happened that night to anyone, and I was not to interfere with Anjou’s will.’

‘It seems she decided to cover up her favourite son’s sins.’

Nate nods.‘The entire incident sickened me. That is why I cannot bear for him to touch me. That is why I cannot join his retinue. Because I may not talk of it, but I have never forgotten, and I will never forgive any of them as long as I live.’

When Sir Francis speaks, he hears contrition in his voice. ‘That’s why you didn’t want to work for him and I refused to listen to you. I’m sorry, Nate. I wish I’d known this.’

‘When I next saw Margot, I didn’t know how I was going to face her. I was afraid she would hate me for allowing myself to be bought off and swayed by Catherine’s bribes. I certainly hated myself.’

Margot shakes her head in negation. Brad sees her give his hand a squeeze. “I could never hate you, Nate. Never-” She says softly before addressing the rest of the group.

‘I embraced him, and told Nate I did not blame him for anything. He had no cause to be ashamed of what happened. I knew my mother and her tricks of old. I needed him with me, and I trusted him with my life, my soul.’ She hesitates before she speaks. ‘I loved him, I admit it. But you all probably worked that out, didn’t you?’ 

“What happened after Nate left court? What happened to you?”

“Anjou had free reign to do as he pleased. I had no choice but to obey. I pleaded with Mother to stop him, but she told me not to make a fuss. Since I had already sullied my virtue, what right did I have to complain?”

“And your brother, the King?” Sir Francis asks, his voice as gentle as Brad has ever heard him. “Is there nothing he could have done to protect you from Anjou?”

She shakes her head.

“He is just as responsible as you, Margot. You should not have had to bear the burden of this alone.”

“How could he have stood against my mother?” she says simply. 

“Why did Anjou stop, Margot?”

“Now we come to it. The worst part.” She looks at Nate. “I never wanted you to know the full truth of my shame. I never wanted anyone to know.”

“Why?”

She fixes haunted eyes on him. “If you knew the full truth, you would have been disgusted. I couldn’t have borne it. I never meant to deceive you. For what it’s worth, I did care for you. I tried so hard to love you as you ought to be loved. You were one of the only good things in my life. I never did deserve a man like you.”

“I suppose the inevitable happened. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I was four months gone when I found out.”

In her own way she’s trying to make amends for her behaviour. 

“You know, don’t you?” she says, to them all, her head bowed. "About my shame?"

“My Lady, please look at me-"

Sir Francis nods. “I’m sorry, my lady. Paré’s notes. We had to force him to show them to us. I promise we would have kept your secret.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared. Henriette helped me contact Paré-“

_Whoever would have thought that Henriette de Nevers would have been so loyal?_

“I was terrified I was going to die during the operation. Afterwards, I lost all will to live. I begged Charles to call you back. Because I needed to see you one last time. Perhaps Charles never realised how bad things had got. But he stepped in. He finally stopped Anjou. He told him if the scandal didn’t stop, if he wouldn’t leave me alone at last he’d have him imprisoned for life in one of our deepest darkest oubliettes.” 

“Why didn’t your brother and your mother intervene earlier? You were on the verge of death, Margot.”

“She’s put the fear of God into him and he was so ashamed of what happened he just wanted to forget it ever occurred. He would never speak of it to me openly, but I suspect it’s something to do with my brother François.”

“Your brother François?” Sir Francis says, alarmed. This terrible situation is far more complicated than they ever thought.

“Did you ever hear the tale of his death? How he was struck by infection and died before Paré could get to him and relieve his pain?”

“Your mother is responsible?”

“I don’t know the truth. But I know for sure she delayed Paré. I’m convinced that had he the chance to treat my brother in time, he wouldn’t have died. François would have had a fighting chance, and Charles, my Charlot wouldn’t have suffered. He should never have become king.”

“This is a very serious accusation you make, Margot. Against your own mother.” Sir Francis says.

“I have proof. Many instances of proof. When the exposé is published-”

“You know about Evan Wright’s exposé?” Brad asks, things starting to make a whole lot more sense now.

“Of course.” She looks surprised that he would even ask, “Who did you think commissioned him to write it?”

“Margot?”

“I had to have a back up plan, in case something happened to me. If anything does happens to me, he is under orders to publish in your home country and be damned.”

“Your reputation-”

“Lord Hasser, what was I doing when you first met me? Drinking in taverns, looking for a warm body to spend the night with. I barely knew you and Ray, yet with an hour of meeting you I was on my knees in a Paris alleyway sucking his dick. I took you both to my bed and we enjoyed ourselves.”

Walt blushes to hear her speak of their first meeting so bluntly.

“I don’t have a good reputation. I know it, and I’m not going to pretend I’m something I’m not.” She looks directly at Brad. ‘I know you don’t have much cause to like me. You think I treated Sir Walt badly and it’s true: I did. I’m sorry, truly I am.’ She turns to Walt, looking him straight in the eye. ‘You were an honest man, a good man. I did not deserve you, Walt.’

‘Why do you think I finally let him go? I am not a bad person at heart. I may have done terrible things. I have not always been a good girl. But inside here, I have a good heart.’

‘He needs someone like you.” She says candidly to Brad. “But I promise you I am just a friend now, and I only want his good. I knew he wouldn’t be happy living forever in my shadow. What can I give him but my false kisses, a counterfeit heart? You were right, Nate. I loved you and I know you loved me once, but we were tearing each other apart emotionally. I am no good for you.”

“He is a good man, Lord Colbert. Be kind to him.” She says to Brad simply.

“You called him your sun. How shall you live without him?” asks Brad.

She turns a bleak look on him which sends a chill down everyone in the room’s spine. There is no doubt to her despair. “I don’t know, Brad. But I must learn-“

Even though he knows now he has won the acrimonious struggle for Nate, his triumph is bitter-sweet.

 

‘What do we do now?’

Sir Francis is grave. ‘She cannot go back to the palace. Not tonight. In view of the circumstances.’ 

‘What terrible things she and Nate went through.’ says Ursula, her pity roused by their tale.

‘But she cannot stay here. She is a princess. They will never let her go. Why isn’t Henri protecting her?’ Brad tries to be practical.

‘Henri knows all about this. He has rejected her. She asked him to take her back to Navarre with him, so they could start again. He didn’t want to know.’

“She really has lost everything, hasn’t she?” Rudy says, compassion in his sad dark eyes.

 

Margot stays in Ursula’s chamber, scarcely talking to anyone.

“My lady?” she says briskly but kindly. “I brought you another posset and some food. You must eat-“

Margot stares at her, unseeing. Ursula starts to worry that she’s been pushed too far emotionally and if they aren’t careful, Margot may do some terrible desperate damage to herself.

“Marguerite?”

She turns to her and gives her a look. Such a look, full of pain that Ursula forgets her high position. _Has Margot ever had this from her own family? This sweet comfort of unconditional love? No wonder she clung to Nate with all her strength. He was one of the only people who showed her unconditional love, and princess as she was, she feels the loss of him like a wound._ Her motherly instincts kick in and she folds the girl in a comforting close embrace.

“Shush, my lady. Grieve.”

She strokes the tangled silken skeins of her hair as Margot weeps bitterly into the dark blue velvet of Ursula’s capable bosom.

“The gambler lost all she did not have-“ she says quietly. “How bitter it is to have everything I wanted to slip through my fingers, Lady Walsingham. I have been such a fool.”

At first Ursula doesn’t understand her words, but then she thinks about her words to Walt and Brad. Almost like a handing over of the torch. She knew that she couldn’t fight it any longer, Brad and Nate belong together, and he can give Nate more than she ever could. Combine that with the fact that Henri has rejected her after the murder of Charlotte de Sauve and Ursula can see why Margot is at rock bottom. She has lost everything; her husband and position, the man she adored since childhood.

 

“Francis?”

Lord Walsingham is at his desk, signing off some paperwork. “Ursula, what is it?”

She takes a seat opposite, folding her hands demurely in her lap. “I’m very concerned.”

“Concerned?”

Ursula leans forward earnestly.“The princess is in a terrible funk. I fear for her mental state.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Ursula?”

“She weeps. I cannot prevail upon her to eat. Francis, I’m at my wit’s end! If anything happens whilst she is in our care-“

“We are in great danger, and yet we just can’t turn her away. Not now.”

 

In two days, a messenger arrives at the house. Ursula opens the door warily, still on the door.

“Open up in the name of the king!”

She stands on the doorstep, a forbidding figure.

“May I ask what this is all about, sir?” she says politely, looking down her nose at him.

“I am led to believe that the Princess Marguerite is here.”

Ursula knows the danger of lying to the authorities, but something in the mute misery of the girl upstairs in her chamber powers her tongue. _I will not sell her out. Someone has to be in the girl’s corner._ “What makes you think that?” she replies, polite as ever.

“She is not to be found at any of her usual haunts. Not at the palaces... not the Hôtel de Guise. The Queen Mother believes that she is here.”

Ursula’s spine stiffens defiantly at the unveiled threat in his voice.“Does she now? Well, you’ll excuse us if I forbear to allow you into our house following the very ill treatment at the hands of the mob on Saint Bartholomew’s Eve?”

The herald is rather disconcerted that he cannot intimidate her, despite his best effort. “We’ll be back. With a warrant!”

Ursula gives them a mocking smile before slamming the door in their faces. “You do that.”

 

Ursula was prepared for the return of the authorities, but even she is surprised by who makes their way to the house the next day.

“May I come in?” Catherine says tersely, pulling off her calfskin gloves. Charles is behind her. He looks agitated and ill, his face looking grey and drawn. She notices he seems to be in some pain.

“Your Majesty.” Ursula says giving her a curtsey.

She strides into the house and into the kitchen where the team are sat, eating breakfast. They freeze at the royal party’s appearance. Every eye upon them.

Ursula deliberately walks past Brad and Nate and breathes so only they can hear her: ’Warn her’. Brad nods and absents himself swiftly from the room.

“Please don’t mind me.” Catherine says coolly. “Lord Hasser, Lord Walsingham.” She sees Nate, and despite himself and his determination not to be afraid of her any more, he turns pale. “Nathaniel, I’ve been worried about you. You know I regard you as one of my own.”

Ursula simply cannot help herself, moved by disgust of the antics related by Margot and Nate. What kind of mother stands aside and watches that happen to your own flesh and blood? “One of your own!”

Catherine ignores Ursula’s interjection.

“I made your dear father a solemn promise that I would look after your welfare. Why are you silent? Do you not believe me?”

Nate just looks at her, damning her by his silence.

“I’m sorry you resent me and blame me. For what it’s worth, I thought a lot of you, my boy. I know you cared for Margot for years...Well, I’m glad to see you’ve landed on your feet here. Lord Walsingham knew your father well, did he not?”

Sir Francis takes control of the situation before her mind wanders towards the truth of the matter. “Your Majesty? To what do we owe this social visit?” he says as pleasantly as ever.

“I seek my daughter.”

Sir Francis has the presence of mind to look astounded at her words. “Your daughter?”

“She’s missing!” bursts out Charles. “Margot has vanished!”

“I’m sorry to say that the king is right. She disappeared from the palace and since then no one has been able to find her. None of her friends have seen hide or hair of the jade.”

“I wish we could help you, but-“

Catherine presses on. “We know that after the Polish delegation, she departed. Three horses were saddled up and taken. I assume she went to ground in the town, hoping she would not be found by her family.”  
“With all due respect, your Grace-“

“I have lost one son to the wilds of Poland. It would be more than I could bear if my daughter disappeared in a snit.”

“Is that what you really believe, your Grace?” 

Sir Francis moves to intercede, but he subsides at one glance from his wife. Ursula means business.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Your daughter has run away from home, by all account. Now I sincerely doubt she would do that unless she was pushed to it.”

“You don’t know her-“ Catherine starts. “That girl is the bane of my life. She will literally do anything for attention. And Charles was far too indulgent with the chit. As soon as as she pouted he’d let her have her own way. I blame myself. She is disgracefully spoilt.”

“On the contrary Madame I think it is you that doesn’t know her.”

 

Brad knocks on the door. He’s not sure if Margot will want to see him. Ursula mentioned that she was in a bit of state.

“My lady, open the door.” He says urgently.

He can hear her in the room.

“Margot, we don’t have time. Please open up-“

She goes reluctantly to the door. He can hear her shuffling grudgingly like a school child to a dreaded lesson.

His first thought when she does finally unbolt the door is she looks terrible. Drained of all her sparkle and gorgeousness, her eyes are swollen and reddened. Her hair all tangled and matted. The bruise on her face turning yellow.

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.” She mutters.

“Your mother and your brother the king are downstairs breathing fire wanting to know where you are.”

She clutches onto the door-frame, pale as a marble statue. “I can’t go. I can’t see them.” She’s trembling. “Please Brad, don’t sell me out.”

They both hear the steps at least three people coming up the stairs. Margot’s eyes widen in panic. With surprising strength, she drags him into the room towards the closet and closes the door behind them. It’s very dark and cramped. This closet was definitely not constructed with someone of Brad’s height in mind. They are pressed together as there is no space, forcing them to cling together to keep their balance.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hisses. “My Lady, this is no time to panic. You must keep your head.”

“I don’t care; I’m not going back. Never again-” He hears the desperation in her voice and realises this is no game to her. She is so serious that she may well do something critical, if forced to return to the palace.

“Then for the love of God, stay still-“

 

“Madame Walsingham, you must understand how concerned I am for my daughter’s well-being. I will not deny that she is under a great deal of strain. Henri’s infidelities, the unfortunate situation at the dinner for the Polish delegation. You know the girl is prone to rash and wild behaviour.” Catherine’s voice even sounds insincere. Does she not have the slightest maternal feeling at all for the Princess? thinks Brad. No wonder she is panicking.

“If you know where she is, Madame, then please set our minds at rest and tell us. I am worried. It’s not like her to simply disappear.” Brad actually has to give Charles his due: He actually sounds worried, contrite even. “I confess, I fear she has done herself a great mischief in her despair.”

“Why do you believe she is here? How can we keep a princess?” Ursula’s voice is calm. Brad has to hand it to her: she certainly has the ability to keep calm and carry on in a crisis.

“I did her a great wrong, many great wrongs. I was angry. I said things that I regret now, with all my heart. I hurt her, my dear sweet Marguerite.”

Brad has to press his hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs. His hand is wet with her tears.

”Charlot-“ she sobs quietly into his doublet.

“Charles, there is no need to be sentimental.” grumbles Catherine. “The girl is nothing but trouble, and she has found another way to bring attention to herself.”

Charles merely raises his voice. In his hiding place, Brad suspects that the king knows she is here concealed in the room. That she can hear their every word. Very little gets past this monarch when he is in his reason.

“Mother, you wrong her. I know out of all my siblings, she is the only one who cares for me. The only one who would grieve if I died. If she could hear me now I would tell her, I’m sorry. We can solve the disputes with Henri. He listens to me, regards me as his dearest friend. I can attempt and persuade him to try again with the marriage.” He sighs. “We are doing no good here. We must go out and keep searching, if she hasn’t left the country already. I will see Nançay and regroup from there.”

 

Sir Francis makes up his mind to go back to the palace and speak to Henri. It’s about time someone made an effort to straighten out the marital strife between Henri and Margot before it’s too late.

Henri is sat at his desk in their old apartment but Sir Francis notices that it doesn’t look like he’s done any work. There’s deep dark circles under his eyes.

“Your Grace?” he enquires. “May we talk?”

Henri raises his head dully as Charles walks through the door. 

“Your Grace, what is this?”

Charles sighs, shutting the door behind them for a little privacy. “We need to talk to you, Henri.”

“About what, Sire?”

“About Marguerite, your wife.”

“I have no idea where she is. She disappeared from the palace. That night of the Polish delegation, when Anjou went mad. No one knows where she is.” 

“Have you not attempted to find her?” asks Sir Francis.

“Where could she hide? If she is not at the Hôtel de Guise? Margot doesn’t want to be found. I have men combing the city. Henriette and Nançay have scoured their old haunts. We’ve come up with nothing.”

“Perhaps you fear that she may never be found. That in her distress, she has walked out on you.”

Henri goes pale underneath his swarthy complexion. Sir Francis surmises he has hit upon the young King’s greatest fear. _Ah, you are fonder of the girl than you ever realised. Now that you know that you might lose her._

“Walked out?” he croaks.

“She’s desperately unhappy here at court. Perhaps after Anjou’s attack on her, she feels she has nothing left to lose by cutting her losses.”

“Where would she go? “

“Did she not say a thousand times that if she was not born a princess she would have married the man she loved and lived a normal life?” Sir Francis suggests.“Perhaps she’s left the country, taken on a new identity. You know she loves her costumes and disguises.”

“She must return! I will not lose my wife over my own stupidity and foolish pride.” Henri cries out. 

“You want to know the truth, I too share your guilt. I treated her very ill that night. I would do anything to take back those words and bring her back home.” Charles says, not caring to hide his distress. Sir Francis can see her disappearance has affected him badly. “Please Sir Francis, can you not persuade her to come back?”

“Henri, you should think about leaving this place, taking your wife back to Navarre and starting a new life with her. If you’ll excuse me speaking out of turn, I think it would best for all concerned.”

“I know. But how do I do this? When I rejected her so thoroughly before? She will never forgive me for my coldness.” His voice falls ashamed of his former pride. “ I wouldn’t forgive me for what I said, let alone her.”

“We can but try, my Lord.” Sir Francis hastens to reassure the young king.

 

After a couple of days, Margot is feeling well enough to take a turn in the garden, though she’s listless and takes no joy in the flowers blooming there. Although the birds are trilling and chirruping sweet to ravish any ear, Margot is deaf to their music, lost in her own dark thoughts. It’s there that Rudy finds her, a book of Dante’s poems in her lap lying there unread as she sits on the stone bench.

“My Lady?” he says gently, approaching her and taking a seat.

“Signor Reyes.” She tries to give him a welcoming smile but fails. “You are kind to come to talk to me. I’m afraid I will be poor company for you today.”

“I wanted to talk to you if you didn’t mind.”

She doesn’t dismiss him, so he presses on.

“How are you, My lady? Mistress Walsingham is worried about you. She mentioned you were having trouble eating and sleeping.”

“I’m bearing up. I’m sorry to be a burden to everyone, but I can’t bear the thought of going back to the palace and accepting my fate.”

He picks up her book from the ground, looking through it briefly before presenting it to her. “Dante? In the original?”

“It suited my mood.”

“You are so intelligent. Don’t you know how fortunate you are to have such a good education? When most women can barely sign their own names? You could do great things if you wanted. You are intelligent enough to be a Queen. You were born to it, Marguerite.” 

She looks at him through dampened lowered lashes, but Rudy senses something promising in the brief flash of pride in her acknowledgement of his words. That’s what he has to appeal to. The long buried pride in herself which has been stifled for so long.

“You know the Valois are a proud and venerated line. As much as you and your mother do not get on the Medici are a great and powerful family. You should be proud of who you are, my lady.”

His voice falls low as he delves into her secret longings, the dreams she’s never dared to express in public but nurtured in her heart silently for a long time. “But I think you have forgotten who you are deep down. That the blood of two great dynasties flows through your veins. That’s the real tragedy. That you sell yourself so short.”

She looks at him with despair and Rudy sees with satisfaction he’s hit upon the crux of the matter. “Don’t you see, Signor Reyes? It’s treason to think of it. I am debarred by Salic law from inheriting the throne. So how can I ever fulfil my ambitions?”

“Return to court. Take up your rightful place there. Become the princess you were born to be once again.” 

“I don’t want to go back. Not to that. I can’t live like that any more, Rudy.”

“Your brother has departed for his new kingdom. He cannot harm you in Poland.” He says, trying to console her.

“Signor Reyes, I don’t believe he’ll stay there long. Not if he and my mother get their own way. Do you?”

The dispassionate way she says it gives him a chill. Almost as if she knows that Charles has pitted himself against a dangerous enemy banishing his brother to Poland.

“I know you can be strong-“ he says, clasping her hand in his. 

A smile plays across her lips for the first time in a long while. “As tempered steel, Nate used to say. I will bend in adversity, but never break.”

“He’s right you know. You kept Henri alive by sheer guile. You protected Nate for all those years, I see that now. You saved your husband that terrible night. You led us to the paperwork and helped us crack the code-”

“Mother always told me I was stubborn as a mule, spoilt and capricious. She was right, though I didn’t want to admit it. I have thought about my behaviour over the past few days here.” She sighs.

“My Lady?” he prompts. She’s so close to making a breakthrough here.

“I have treated the people around me so wrongly. Treated Nate appallingly, though I knew he loved me for who I was. Unconditionally. If I have any regrets, I wish I could have been the woman he needed. I should have been kinder to him.”

“I think you are harder on yourself than you need to be. Perhaps you are all you say you are. I have not known you for years. I cannot speak for that. But you are human and flawed as we all are.”

“Why do you not judge me, Rudy?”

He smiles simply. “It’s not my place to pass judgement on you. For I have not walked a mile in your shoes.”

“You’re a good man, Signor Reyes.” She says softly, accepting his arms round her. “God bless you always.”

“You are stronger than you know, my lady. Claim your power at last, be the queen you were born to be, and no one will be able to bring you down again, I promise you.”

 

The next morning Margot is ready to leave for the palace.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright, my lady?” Ursula asks. “Are you ready to return to the palace and your family?”

“I have to go back some time.” Margot says lightly, but there is a gleam, a radiance in her which had been sorely lacking in these last few days. “Rudy was right, I have to be strong and reclaim my power.”


	31. Le Roi est Mort, Vive le Roi!

Charles looks dreadful, as if it’s costing him every ounce of ebbing strength to stay alive. He clutches onto the armrests of the throne as if it’s the only thing keeping him here and grounded.

Margot walks through the crowd which parts as she passes. She looks magnificent, clad in a gown of cream silk embroidered with silver lilies, ropes of evenly matched pearls around her neck, pinned on her bosom and entwined in her inky dark hair which streams loose down her back. From the back of the throne room Walt sees her as a shining luminous figure drawing the eye of all in the room; an angel cast adrift in Hell searching for the light.

She throws herself at his feet, prostrating herself.

“Rise, my sister.” he says fondly, standing to embrace her. “My dear girl.”

Margot addresses her brotherly fearlessly. “My husband and I want to leave for our kingdom. Navarre sorely needs it’s King and Queen back. Please brother, release us. Let us go home.”

The courtiers exchange uncertain glances, unsure of how the king will take her plea.

“Marguerite.” he sighs. He holds her close, as intimate as lovers. “I don’t have long. Stay with me, until the end. Then I promise you on my honour as king, I will grant you your wish.”

“What do you mean you don’t have long? Charles, what’s wrong?”

Charles looks at her with sadness in those striking golden hazel eyes. “Don’t you understand, dearest Margot?”

Everyone can hear the panic in her voice as it rises in pitch. “No, Charlot, please. You can’t leave me!”

She reaches out to touch his face and looks down, realisation dawning on her face. “There is blood on my hands.” She says in a terrible toneless voice, full of despair. “You’re-You’re sweating blood, Charlot.”

He collapses against her, both sagging underneath his weight. “Help me, sister-“ he gasps, blood bubbling from his mouth, beading and running down his forehead, oozing out of his skin like an unnatural sweat.

“My lady, look at your beautiful cream dress! It’s covered in his blood!” Gillone cries, bursting into distressed tears. “Oh, your Majesties-“

Margot looks down at the dress, which is covered in blood where she has embraced Charles. She’s trembling in shock as the realisation hits her like a cannonball. Horrible gasping sobs, like a wounded animal.

“Get the doctor! Somebody summon Paré!” a courtier shouts.

* * *

When the king has been helped into his apartment and laid in his bed, Margot paces waiting for the royal surgeon to attend him. Her head snaps round as the door goes.

“Mother!” she says, frozen into position.

Catherine stands on the threshold, almost as if she was unsure of her welcome. For a moment, it’s like a strange tense tableau. Margot’s suspicions, never too far beneath the surface flare up.

“Where is Paré? Did you see him? Is he on his way?” she says trembling with impatience.

The blood has drained from Catherine’s face. All of a sudden she looks very old and sapped of energy. “What happened to Charles?”

“He’s sweating blood. I’ve never seen anything like it. My dress is covered.”

Catherine looks shocked as she looks at her son breathing labouredly in the bed, at her shell-shocked daughter in her stained finery. “This was a mistake. A mistake.” She keeps saying under her breath.

“What do you mean, Maman?” Margot says, fear making her voice shrill and taut with tension. 

Catherine cannot answer.

“You said that it was a ‘mistake’. Why would you say that? Unless you know why Charles is afflicted with this terrible illness?” Margot persists, her voice getting louder.

“She does.” Charles groans from his bed. “Don’t you?”

Catherine looks like a corpse as she clutches onto the bedpost, staring at her dying son with horrified eyes. “This was never meant to happen.”

“Please will someone tell me what happened?”

“Yes, tell Margot everything. Tell the truth for once in your life, Mother.” A sardonic smile flits across his pained face. “Ah, for once you are silent.”

“I read too much, Mother. Do you understand?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There was a book. It was left in your apartments. It was meant for Henri, not for you, Charles. You should never have read the book-”

Margot cannot believe her ears. “You planned to kill my husband, to murder him in cold blood... Would I have been next?”

“In case you hadn’t forgotten he was going to leave you for that slut Charlotte!” Catherine snaps, advancing towards her. 

Margot flinches away from her and she stops. 

“I did what I had to do, what I have always have done for the good of our family and the noble House of Valois.”

“Do you really believe that?” Margot says in horror and disgust. “I could have picked up that book and started to read in all innocence. Anyone could. How could you, Mother?”

“My son-“ 

Margot seizes his bloody hand and clasps it, ignoring the blood smeared on her hands.

She’s frantically whispering as if in prayer against some wicked force. “Don’t come near him. Please, don’t. Leave him alone. Please-“

“You cannot believe this hysterical nonsense. That girl has always laboured to discredit me in your eyes, my lord.”

“Who but you, Maman, is the cause of all our misery?” he says bitterly.

She draws back her hands, stung by his rejection even on his deathbed.

“Cursed with a madman for a son. A weak feeble-minded simpleton to hand the hopes of the Valois on. All my labour in vain! How my children turn on me!”

“I am what you made me, Mother. We all are. Myself, Margot who you have always treated abominably, François Hercule who you twisted into a monster with your bullying even Alexandre Edouard who you spoil with your indulgence. You have damned us all!”

“Anjou would not have disappointed me like you have.” She grits out.

“Do you think that he will allow you to rule through him as I have? The moment he gets the throne at last he will ignore and disregard you.” He cracks her a pitying sickly smile. “He used you, Mother to get exactly what he wanted. He has never given a damn about anyone except for himself.”

Catherine reels as if Charles has struck her. “How can you say that about my dearest boy? Mon yeux-“

“The irony of it all is that it was I loved and respected you.”

Catherine is taken aback by his statement. “You loved me?”

“You were the only mother I had.” Charles’s voice is laden with sorrow. “I know you sacrificed so much after Father died. I respected you, and loved you. I tried to keep your secrets; to obey you in thought, word and deed despite the cost to myself. But no matter what I did it was never enough. You loved him more than you ever loved me-” 

“My son.” she mourns turning her pain in on herself. If Margot and Charles hadn’t known what wickedness she was capable of, they might have even pitied her. “My poor wronged son, I’m sorry. This was never meant to happen, you must believe me. Would you punish me for my wrongdoing?”

He turns from her pressing his face into the pillow the blood soaking into it. “If only you had loved me back even a tenth of what you gave to Anjou, then none of this would have ever happened.”

* * *

“Well, what do you find? What is the cause of Actaéon’s death?”

"Sire," said Rene, after a close and silent investigation, "the dog has been poisoned by arsenic."

"He has eaten a leaf of this book," says Charles; "and if you do not tell me whose book it is I will have your flesh torn from your bones by red-hot pincers."

"Sire," stammers the Florentine, taking a gulp of fortifying air and taking his courage in hand. "This book belongs to me!"

"It is yours? And how did it leave your hands?" He looks on the perfumer with distrust.

"Her majesty the queen-mother took it from my house, Your Grace. Without my permission-"

"Why did she do that?" Charles rasps, an attack of debilitating pain coming over him. He doubles up in agony. “Stole it, did she?”

"I believe she intended sending it to the King of Navarre, who had asked for a book on hawking."

"Ah," says Charles, "I understand it all! The book was in Harry's room. It is destiny; I must yield to it. Tell me," he went on, turning to Rene, "This poison does not always kill at once?"

"No, sire; but it kills surely. It is a matter of time."

"Is there no remedy? None?" For a moment he sounds so young and vulnerable even René pities him, facing up to death at such a young age.

"None, sire." René’s face crumpled in anguish as the full ramifications of his actions become clear to him. “I’m sorry, Sire. I was never able to find an antidote for the Tofana in time. I have betrayed you, my king and my country. Will you ever be able to grant me forgiveness for my sins?”

“There is only one way you can redeem yourself.”

“How, Sire-“ René says, clutching at straws.

“You will tell the truth-“

Charles compels the wretched man to write in the fatal volume, "This book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de’ Medici. René.”

“You may go.”

René bows and scrapes at the door, over come with remorse at the results of his actions.

 

That afternoon Catherine sits on the bed and looks down at her sick son. Charles knows why she has come to trouble him in his illness. She starts to talk to the king about the cause of his disease.

"Listen, my son; you believe in magic?"

"Oh, fully," said Charles, repressing his smile of incredulity. “I have always had your example to guide me.”

“My example?”

“Don’t you think I always knew about your experiments at Chambord. Your conferences and superstitious meetings with the Ruggieri? Did you think that Margot and Nate never told me what you did at Chambord in your secret chambers?”

The blood drains from her face.

"Well, I have consulted them about your terrible malady," continues Catherine putting a bold face on it, in an effort to deceive him still, "all your sufferings proceed from magic. An enemy afraid to attack you openly has done so in secret; a terrible conspiracy has been directed against your majesty. You doubt it, perhaps, but I know it for a certainty."

"I never doubt what you tell me," replies the king with a sarcastic overtone in his voice she cannot fail to catch. "I am curious to know how they have sought to kill me."

"By magic. Look here." The queen drew from under her mantle a figure of yellow wax about ten inches high, wearing a robe covered with golden stars, and over this a royal mantle.

"See, it has on its head a crown," says Catherine, "and there is a needle pierced right through its heart. Now do you recognise yourself?"

"Myself?"

"Yes, in your royal robes, with the crown on your head. This is deep and cunning magic. This person meant you great harm." She gives a dramatic little shudder to punctuate her point.

"And who made this figure?" asks the king, weary of the wretched farce she’s forcing him to play. 

"The King of Navarre, of course! Under the tutelage of his wife, your dear sister."

"This, then, is the cause of my illness. And now what must I do-for I know nothing of sorcery?"

"The death of the conspirators destroys the charm. Its power ends with his life and hers, naturally. You are convinced now, are you not, of the cause of your illness?" Feigned tears spring to her eyes. “My son, this is the only way I can save you and the country.”

"Oh, certainly," Charles answers ironically.

 

Before he dies Charles shows Catherine the poisoned book, which he had kept under lock and key.

“Where did you get that book, my son?” she asks.

When he cracks an unpleasant smile she knows everything. Charles knows. All her plots, her scheming to preserve the throne for her favourite. All exposed to his eyes.

“I picked it up. I read my fill, like the glutton for knowledge I was. Open it, Mother. Don’t you want to touch it?” His eyes burn in his thin drawn face like embers. The dark hollows under his sunken eyes make him look like a wraith. “Open the book, Madame!”

She wilts under the implacable will of the dying king.“I-I can’t .”

“Why?” he takes the volume from her. “Ah, I see you don’t want to touch it without gloves. Perhaps I should do the honours for you, since I am already looking death in the eye. What does it say? Read the inscription for me if you please.”

"This book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de Medici. Rene,"

Mother and son stare at each other for a long time, completely without words.

“That inscription was not there when I –“

“So you admit your own guilt in the matter?”

“What will you do? Will you give me up to the justice of your courts? Expose the family to more terrible scandal?”

“No, Maman.” he says with a weary sigh. All he wants is for the torment to be over forever. No more pain and unhappiness.

“You are a good boy, Charles.” She says fondly stroking his sweating fevered brow. Her hand comes away bloody and she wipes it on the counterpane, staining it. “You always kept my secrets, didn’t you?”

“Yes, always.”

“The book. What will you do with the evidence, son?” Catherine presses.

"Burn it, madame. I read this book too much, so fond was I of the chase. The world must not know the weaknesses of kings. When it is burnt, please summon my brother Henri. I wish to speak to him about the regency."

“Henri? Why would you want to speak to him?”

“Do you question my will? Even here?”

She shakes her head, stung by her own guilt.

“I would sleep now, Maman. Leave me.” He murmurs, more than half asleep.

* * *

Brad and Walsingham are weary as they enter Vincennes for the last time. There’s a funereal atmosphere as the court wait for Charles IX to breathe his last.

‘Monsieur le Roi is fading fast, but he wanted to see both of you one last time.’ Etienne said as he drew them aside. ‘I will not deny he is not in a good state. I hope it will not distress you.’

They both look at each other.

‘Forward unto the breach once more-‘ murmurs Brad. ‘By God, Sir, I will be glad to get home.’

Sir Francis sighs. ‘To be honest, Brad, I will too.’

The door opens and Walsingham can barely recognise the frail deathly figure on the bed.

‘Lord Colbert, Lord Walsingham-‘ Even that short sigh leeches the strength from him.

It seems hard to believe the king is barely twenty-five. He’s barely into the prime of his life and reign, and he looks like an old man lying there in the bed, clutching the covers for warmth in the summer heat. 

‘Your Majesty, please conserve your strength.’ Brad says quietly.

‘Come closer, both of you-‘ he says in a weak whisper. ‘I have important things to say to you.’

Close up Brad can see the livid greyness of his skin, as if all the goodness and life has been already sucked out of it. The fine sheen of blood oozing out like an unnatural sweat, turning the bed sheets pink.‘Thank you for saving my life at the boar hunt. It was a good day when you and your men came to me, Lord Walsingham.’

‘You do us great honour, your Grace-‘

‘You kept my confidence when we talked.’ He wheezes, struggling for breath. ‘You said nothing of the young Duc d’Angoulême and my dear Madame Touchet. I’m grateful for your discretion. I’m not sure that I could rely on many of my own subjects for that level of loyalty.’

‘It was nothing, Your Grace-‘

‘I know strictly speaking you owe your allegiance to Queen Elizabeth. You owe me little at all. Yet you did this for me. Thank you.’

‘How do you feel, Sire? Is there anything you would like us to do?’ Walsingham says kindly.

‘No, Sir Francis. There is nothing you can do for me now. I know I will not live past the end of the week, if that. Anjou is already heading back in triumph from Poland.’ The fretful tears run down his face. Brad notices they too are tinged with blood.

‘I imagine Mother notified him as soon as I became ill. She always wanted him to be king instead of me. The irony is, I never expected or wanted to be king either. My brother died of an abscess in his ear, and then I was as a small boy thrust into an intolerable situation.’

‘You have been very good to me, so if you will give credence to the words of a dying man… leave this godforsaken court and take Nate with you. Please-’

‘You think we should?’ Brad wonders just how much the king knew.

‘You forget I grew up with Nate and Margot. I loved him for his loyalty and adoration of my sister. I saw everything that happened.’

‘You knew about why he was afraid of Anjou? What your brothers did to Margot?’

‘Yes. And it was my fault. My fault. It was I and my unnatural desires that damned us all in the first place-’

Brad has been so long at this court that this last statement by the king fails to surprise him.

‘He wouldn’t be happy at court without her, and Anjou and Alençon would be cruel to him, for their own amusement. He is a good man. He does not deserve that.’

‘If that is your desire, your Grace-‘ Brad says, trying to mask the burst of happiness he feels. A future with Nate he never dared to dream of, now within his grasp.

‘Yes. At least I can do one good deed to lie beside my tally before I have to meet my maker. I fear I may have many sins to my account. The massacre-‘

Brad and Sir Francis exchange a glance.

‘I regret it, truly. When posterity remembers my reign, that night will be a terrible blot on my name.’

‘Why did you agree to it if you feel this way?’

Brad has a good idea why, but he lets the dying king speak, to unburden his heavy conscience.

‘My mother and de Guise convinced me that it was the only option the only way to save my kingdom from being torn apart. It was only meant to be half a dozen of the most radical protestant leaders, the ones who were agitating for revolt and unrest. For the murder of my family, they swore to me. But it swiftly spiralled out of my control. How many died those nights?’ he asks plaintively.

Even though he has blood on his hands and no one can truly exonerate him, Sir Francis feels some pity for him.

‘Some say that 30,000 died. There are reports of unrest in the other cities. I know not how many lost their lives there-’

Charles groans, a terrible agony in his voice, as the enormity of his sin is laid bare to him. ‘Gaspard was right. If only I had the strength to stand firm against my mother. I promised him I would, and I failed him. I was too weak.’

Sir Francis says nothing knowing that Charles had to live with and will carry to his grave the guilt for his sins. In all honesty, he doesn’t know whether he deserves absolution or not. He is king. Ultimately, the responsibility for the massacre is his.

* * *

Henri waits outside to see the dying king. 

“Your Grace, what happened? I came as soon as I heard the news.” He says gentle as he’s ever been heard. “Are you in much pain, Charles?”

“Brother, you are losing a good friend. Had I believed all I was told about you, you would not be alive right now to tell the tale. But I always loved and had the greatest regard for you.”

“You did?”

“Why else do you think I gave you my greatest treasure? My morning star?”

Henri thinks about what he knows about the royal siblings. How Charles polluted his little sister’s innocence, and started the whole spiral of corruption and shame. And yet Henri can’t help remembering that night he nearly died, when Margot burst in and pleaded so melodramatically for his life. The pain in Charles’s eyes as she wept. The obeisance she offered, mouth pressed to his boot leather like a lover’s kiss. Her grief and terror as she realised her brother was dying. 

Though he deplores the terrible sin Charles committed against his sister, perhaps some twisted love remains between them dark and bitter-sweet like poisoned honey.

“You loved her, didn’t you? You always did. You love her still-”

Charles sighs through cracked lips. “Always. She was my Morning Star-“

Henri squeezes a sponge to give him some fluid. 

“Forgive me...Forgive me for wronging you. For giving you a gift with one hand and taking it back with another. Do you truly care for her? My Margot?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What we did was wrong. I know it, and I will have to account to God for that sin. Among many others.” 

“Did you know the full extent of what Anjou did to her?”

The tears seep out of Charles’s eyes, staining his pallid cheeks with blood. _How harrowing it must be!_ Henri thinks as he watches the torment on the dying king’s face. _To look into the mirror of your soul at the end of your life and be faced with every inadequacy. Every wrong turn and decision paraded in front of you!_

“Yes, Henri. I knew-“ his voice is raw with shame as he relives that terrible time. “After I confessed my sin to Coligny I just wanted to forget. To lock my shame in a box and hide it away. To never think of it again. I couldn’t face what I’d done to her. I knew what he did to her, and yet I did not intervene, until Henriette de Nevers forced me to see the truth. I let her suffer for my sins-” 

_Margot had never had that option,_ thought Henri with a surge of pity for that foolish vulnerable young girl. _She had to live with the consequences and take on the guilt._

“I want you to know, I would never have hurt you, Harry, in my right mind. That terrible night...”

“Forget it, Sire. You mustn’t think of it now.”

“I had to have peace.” Charles insists, clutching at his slashed sleeve. “Coligny, that wisest of men, he impressed it on me daily. This nation cannot stand divided. Promise me, when you become king you will at least try to carry on our work. Religious tolerance for all.”

“When I am king? But your brothers. Your mother. They would never let me ascend to the throne. A rough humble Gascon-“

“Psht, man! You are a better man than any of my brothers.”

Henri’s mind is racing with the possibility. His deepest secret ambition within a fingertip’s touch. “If they even suspected my ambitions lay in that direction my life would be worth less than a feather.”

“You have a claim through your own birth and Margot. She cannot inherit in her own right, but as her husband you would be next in line after Anjou and Alençon. Don’t you see, Henri she was always the key! That’s why de Guise chased her for all those years. She is the strongest line of succession. The House of Valois will live through her-”

Catherine would never allow it, and Anjou is probably speeding back from Poland as they speak, but Henri doesn’t have the heart to disillusion a dying man.

* * *

Catherine calls Henri to her once more. As he enters her office and waits in the anteroom to be admitted, he thinks about the last time he was summoned here alone. The fear that she would get one of her sons or de Guise to kill him, just like poor Armangnac. The bloodstain on the wall, still bright and incriminating as if his eyes were drawn to it. A mark of her guilt and her terrifying power.

 

Maddalena opens the door.

"Come, my son. Do not keep me waiting!" she calls out from the depths of her office.

The maid gives him a malevolent look as she ushers him into her mistress’s presence.

“I wanted to speak to you. In confidence. Come Henri, sit.”

He takes a seat opposite her, staring her right in the eye. “Monarch to Monarch. Yes, Madame. I remember how that goes, don’t you?”

She looks at him with sheer unsheathed loathing for a moment before rearranging her facial features into something more caring and maternal. It’s too late though, Henri has seen the mask slip.

“As you are aware, my son is ill.” She starts. 

“He is dying, your Grace.” Henri says flatly. “Let’s not mince words.” 

“Than you realise how important the situation is. Don’t you, Henri?”

“What’s your point, your Grace?” Henri remarks, blunt as ever. He has no time to waste on playing games.

“If you dare to accept the regency, then know this: you have made yourself a formidable enemy.”

“Is that a threat? Mother?” he says with an unpleasant tone to his voice.

“Just remember; you haven’t got Margot to leap into the fray and protect you now. I’d like to think you aren’t foolish enough to accept the regency.”

Henri plays dumb, waiting for her to commit herself. 

“For if your ambition exceeds your intelligence, I warn you right now that it will be a death sentence. Take the throne from my sons, and you are a dead man.”

* * *

"Madame," he says, addressing his mother formally, though weakly, "If I had a son he would be king, and you would be regent. In your stead, did you decline, the King of Poland would be regent; and in his stead, Alençon. But I have no legitimate son, and therefore the throne belongs to Anjou, who is absent in his own kingdom. To make Alençon regent is to invite civil war. I may not have been a great monarch. I was weak and easily ruled, but he would be disastrous.”

Catherine goes pale. “He is your brother by birth and blood. If Anjou is to be denied his heritage-“

“Maman, be serious. Do you believe Alençon is fit to rule?”

She subsides into a resentful silence.

“I have therefore chosen the fittest person for regent. Salute him, madame; salute him, Alençon. It is the King of Navarre!"

Henri sinks to his knees. “I will endeavour to carry out your command, Sire. You do me a great honour. I only hope I prove worthy to take your place, Charles.”

Catherine is white with shock. “Him? How could you do this to me?” She snarls.

“Do you accept my will?”

"Never," cried Catherine, her eyes bulging with fury, "shall my race yield to a foreign one! Never shall a Bourbon reign while a Valois lives! I have sacrificed my life for this family, endured humiliation and want, and you throw it away on a dirty Gascon peasant!"

“My application has already been lodged with Parlement. I believe they are putting it to the vote now.” He raises his voice slightly, a note of triumph in his weak voice. “There’s no point in raging. It’s done now, Maman. A fait accompli.”

She leaves the room grinding her teeth, followed by a furious Alençon.

“They were pretty angry with your decision, Sire.”

Charles tries to crack a feeble smile. “D’ye know what, Harry? I don’t care any more. Death does that to a man. Makes him realise the mistakes he made, and what’s important.”

"Henry," said Charles, "Listen closely to me. After my death you will be great and powerful. Anjou will not leave Poland-they will not let him. Alençon is a traitor to all.” 

Do you think I do not see him for what he is? You alone are capable of governing this land and bringing it back to greatness. It is not the regency only, but the throne I give you. Be a good king, a strong king." He sighs. “A better king than I-“

A stream of blood chokes his speech. Henri hastens to wipe the blood from Charles’s lips. As he attends to the dying king, he’s privately shocked at how wasted and aged he is by his virulent illness. Such a terrible shame. He’s not yet twenty five years of age. We all grew up together, De Guise, the royal children. Wild as hoydens, care free, none of us knew how life would turn out.

 

"The fatal moment is come," says Charles. "Am I to reign, or to live, doctor?"

Paré shakes his head. This frail fragile man, who he has laboured and battled to keep alive since boyhood has run out of time.

“Then send me my sister. Please. I would not go without seeing her.”

* * *

Margot enters the room and falls to her knees, clasping her brother’s hand. “Charlot, my dearest brother. Are you in pain?”

He shakes his head, his breathing noisy and laboured as he fights for breath.

“You came. Dear girl... my Morning Star.”

“Don’t leave me. Please Charlot, you can fight this, I know you can-“

“No, no-“

“If I could give you a part of my strength , so you may live!”

She wipes the blood from his brow, as the ghost of a weary smile flits across his face. “If I have one regret, it is that I caused you and my dear wife Elisabeth pain. She didn’t deserve any of this. I pray that you will remember my dear Marie, you remember her, don’t you?”

Margot blinks back her tears. “Of course, Charlot. She shall be as a sister to me, and her boy will be as dear to me as if he were my own.”

"Good girl.”

“Did you love Nate? Your gentle troubadour?”

“Yes, I did. I know that now, too late. How could he have had a true fulfilling life as my shadow? He’s better off where he is now. Loved by someone who can return his affection.” Margot raises her chin brave yet resigned,  
“If I was a simple maid, not your sister I would have been able to love him truly. I should have been his wife, have borne his children. Beautiful girls with his eyes and voice and my cleverness. That’s what Father always wanted for us. But it wasn’t to be.... I have lost the two men in the world I loved. You and him-”

“It was I who led you you down the path to sin. I should never have come to your bed. Can you forgive me, sister? For wronging you?”

“You didn’t wrong me, Charlot-“ she vows, squeezing his hand.

“You care for me still? You forgive me?”

She holds him close, her tears mingling with the blood seeping into her gown. “Always-“

“I can’t live under Anjou’s thumb. Not after what he did to me. You understand. It must be war between us. Henri against Henri. Another civil war-”

“I know.” He sighs. “And I’m sorry you must struggle, though I tried to give him his own kingdom in the hope he would cease to covet mine against him when he takes my throne. I could not withhold it from him legally. But I tried my hardest for both of you. I made Henri heir in waiting.”

“You disinherited Alençon?” she says in surprise. “You told him this?”

“Margot, I would not leave my realm to him. You know how ill-suited he would be to it. Henri will make a great king and you shall be a great Queen by his side.”

“Anjou will try to eliminate any threat to his throne. He has been well tutored by Maman. Perhaps Henri and I will not live long enough to benefit from your gift.”

“Maman will not live forever. You are strong- you will live for a long time, you will outlast us all. Live, Marguerite! Live for me!”

"I shall, Hhenri, I shall!" she tells him, with a reassuring and sad smile. “Don’t let me die alone. Let me die in your arms. Please-“ 

Her arms wind round his fragile frame. He leans against her, closing his eyes briefly at the comfort she gives him.

“God, you are merciful. Forgive me for my sins-“ he whispers as he starts to fade

* * *

“Absolutely not!” says Catherine, her thin mouth drawn into a stubborn line. Her daughter faces her with an equally stubborn expression to her lovely face. Despite the redness to her eyes and nose there is no way she is going to back down now. The mental battle lines are drawn.

“You know that royalty does not grieve a monarch. It would be highly inappropriate to attend. Send a token or a representative if you must. Wear heavy mourning of purple as you already are. But you are a Princess of the Blood and Queen of Navarre, and you will not attend.”

Margot looks outraged by her mother’s dictate. “He was my brother and I loved him! Even if you did not, Maman.” Margot grits out. “I will go and grieve him and neither you or anyone else can stop me!”

“Will you talk to your wife and make her see sense! “ Catherine exclaims, turning to Henri for assistance.

Henri shrugs. “Marguerite feels strongly about the subject. Who am I to stand in her way? I say if she wishes to mourn her brother, as King of Navarre and her husband, I grant her my permission.”

Catherine is astonished at his support of the princess. “You would thwart me too? For sheer sport, I warrant?”

“It would hardly be my place to deny her that small morsel of comfort at a time like this.” Henri says calmly, yet firmly. “She has lost her brother in the most tragic of circumstances. Allow her to mourn for him, your Grace and say goodbye in her own fashion. Can you not do that for her?”

Catherine knows when she is defeated. “Very well. But you will be discreet and not make a spectacle of yourself. That is if you are capable of such a thing.”

“-Oh do not fear Maman. I will be the very soul of propriety.” Margot says bitterly.

* * *

“Did you have to clash with her, Margot? “

Margot’s face was pale yet implacable like a marble statue. “My brother was not a loved monarch. The people despised him and yet they never truly knew him. Not as I did.”

“To oppose your mother. To throw over royal mourning etiquette-“

“Who will mourn him if I do not, Henri?” she says candidly.

When she puts it like that he can hardly argue with her logic. “Do as you see fit, My Lady. ”

“You’re angry with me? You think I’m merely causing a scene?”

“Not at all, Margot. I will support you in whatever you decide to do. He is your brother and you cared for him.”

She lets him embrace her briefly, allows him to wrap his arms round her for a few brief moments.

“Thank you, Henri.” She says softly before extricating herself from his doublet and walking away.

 

The procession makes it’s way through the crowded streets to the royal chapel of Saint-Denis. As it passes the people line the roads in silence, keeping a baleful watch on the dead king’s last journey. From their vantage point, the team watch.

“They cannot forgive him his sins and his weakness.” says Rudy heavily. “I almost pity the king. Passing on almost unmourned.”

“Not unmourned. Look-“

A group of four figures follow the procession. Three women walking slowly yet heavily to the chapel holding hands, united in their grief. The bereaved Queen Elisabeth holds her hand, eyes cast down in her sorrow. Margot walks in the middle, back straight like the queen she is by birth and breeding. Defiantly watching the crowd as if daring them to disrupt her brother’s last journey. On the other side, Marie Touchet sobs as she walks with them holding young Charlot’s hand. Margot turns briefly to comfort her in her grief for the king.

“Whatever else is said about the king, he was loved by a few. He did not make his last journey alone. That’s as much as any man can ask in these times.”

* * *

Margot speaks to the sacristan, lavishing all her charm to persuade him to her will.

“It’s highly irregular, what you’re asking for, My Lady.”

“Please Sir, for me. I need to say goodbye to him. In my own way.”

He takes a look at her face, white with grief and a kernel of pity blooms in his old withered heart. “Very well, as long as no trouble comes from it. I’ll stay behind in the vestry and you can stay with the body tonight for your own vigil.”

“Thank you, Sir. You have no idea what this means to me.” She says sincerely.

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord;  
Lord, hear my voice!  
Let your ears be attentive  
to my voice in supplication:

If you, O Lord, mark iniquities,  
Lord, who can stand?  
But with you is forgiveness,  
that you may be revered.

 

There is a heavy oppressive atmosphere in the chapel as Charles’s body lies in state. Clouds of heavy cloying incense and the steady monotone chanting of the Requiem mass surround the dark cloaked figure who lies prostate on the floor. Occasionally, a sob escapes her or a muttered prayer.

“It doesn’t feel right. To intrude on such naked impassioned grief.” Says Henri, observing from the vestry.

Sir Francis shakes his head. “Sire, she needs you now. This is the best thing you can do for her. Be there for her. Her help-meet, her rock.”

“Her partner.” says Henri thoughtfully. “Thank you Lord Walsingham, I know what I must do now.”

“Then I shall wait outside with my men, and I hope you gain what you seek, my lord.”

 

I trust in the Lord;  
my soul trusts in his word.  
My soul waits for the Lord,  
more than sentinels wait for the dawn.  
let Israel wait for the Lord;  
For with the Lord is kindness  
and with him is plenteous redemption;  
And he will redeem Israel from all their iniquities

Margot doesn’t hear the steps behind her as she lies on the floor of the chapel, arms flung out; deep in her prayers. As Henri approaches he can hear a low muttering, fervent praying that she is heard by God. 

“Please, dear God, I know we were sinners, all of us. Do not shut the gates of heaven to him. He tried all he could with the tools we were given. How did we ever know how to live as your children? How to be good? If he must suffer for his sins, let him not suffer too much-“ her voice breaks on a stifled sob. “Let him not burn in the flames of hell for what we did. I’m sorry. For everything-“

“I’m sure he cannot be such a churl as to close his ears to such a fervent plea for forgiveness-“ Henri says quietly.

She turns her head to meet the sound.

“I didn’t want you to be alone tonight, wife of mine.”

“You’ll stay with me?” she asks, “Whilst I grieve for him?”

He nods and kneels next to her in front of the altar. Her hand slips into his gloved one. Such a small vulnerable gesture of trust, but one that warms his cynical heart. Despite everything she is prepared to give them another chance.

“If I could kiss away your pain, I would.” He sighs, holding her close. “Precieuse, look at me-“

“You don’t hate me. For what we did?”

“I can’t pretend to understand why you did what you did.” Henri says, honest as ever. “I can’t hope to understand what you went through. But it was wrong of me to blame you for your brother’s sins. What you must have endured, and why you would love the only man who dared to try and keep you safe. He was a far better man than I will ever be, this Nathaniel-”

“He was-“ her voice is quiet, musing on the past and her lost love. “But you have nothing to fear. It’s over. I know that now.”

Their lips meet tentatively, gaining in passion as she yields to him at last.

“Henri-“ she breathes, touching his face in wonder.

“I shall have to take you away from here, before I get carried away and desecrate the sanctity of the chapel. Oh Precieuse, how could you have ever thought I could live without you-” He says with a rueful little smile, breaking away from their kiss. 

Margot makes a small noise of longing which sends a thrill to his worldly heart.

“You have cried enough tears, dear Margot. It is time for us to try to move on together. As husband and wife. As king and consort. Can we start again, mon ange?”

She stares at him with big dark blue eyes.” You’ll take me back? In truth? You want me to be your queen?”

“Yes. I don’t presume to promise we’ll always be happy together, but I will try not to hurt you deliberately, my dear.”

He takes her hand and leads her out of the chapel. She presses two last kisses to Charles’s cold lifeless eyelids, taking his cold limp hand and pressing it tenderly to her chest.

“Goodbye, dearest Charlot. I will never forget you-“

Henri stands back, observing his wife’s grief. “You loved him very much, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.” she says with that disarming candidness that was all hers.”- and that’s what made it so damned hard. He was so kind and gentle, so grateful for everything it was hard to refuse him when he needed me so.” 

There’s nothing more to be said. Henri just wraps his arms around her.

“Thank you for everything you have done for my wife.” Henri tells the sacristan who waits in the foyer.

“You are leaving, your Graces?”

Henri looks for confirmation from Margot, then he nods.

“Yes, I think we are.”

* * *

When the couple next meet with Catherine, it’s purely business.

“Before his tragic departure Charles promised that we could depart for our kingdom. When will you allow us to leave, Mother? “ Margot says as soon as the couple have taken a seat opposite her.

“Out of the question.” Catherine says, voice flat with dismissal. “Neither of you are going anywhere.”

“Why would that be?”

“Neither I or the new King will allow you to go. As I said before, it’s out of the question.”

Margot doesn’t lose her temper though her eyes flash. She sits upright and calm, as regal as she has ever been seen.

“I think you misunderstand me, Mother. I am politely informing you that we will be departing for our kingdom. I hope you won’t take it into your mind to be obstructive?”

“Do you dare to be insolent to me at a time like this?” Catherine leans forward to intimidate her but Margot stands her ground. The times where she could frighten her daughter into submission have long gone.

“I am simply making a polite request.” Margot says. “We are no longer needed here, and Navarre needs it’s king and queen. Let us go, Mother-”

“You will do nothing of the sort. Alexandre Edouard is travelling back from Poland as we speak. The coronation is scheduled in a week and a half, God willing. You will both be there at the front of the church to provide a show of unity and congratulate him on his good fortune.”

Henri tries unsuccessfully to suppress his scorn. “Congratulate him?”

“What’s going on?” she looks at the pair with their clasped hands on the table, suspicion flaring out of those dark narrowed eyes. “I was under the impression that the marriage was going through a rough patch. You had every intention of divorcing my daughter for a commoner! And yet here we are playing ‘Happy Families’?”

“It seems you don’t understand. I will not live here under my brother’s thumb and neither will my husband. No more. I am departing for my husband’s kingdom at the earliest opportunity.”

Catherine rankles at Margot’s air of command. “You aren’t leaving, so get that idea out of your head.”

Margot sighs unwillingly. “I am sorry to have to do this, but it seems I have no choice. If you persist in thwarting our very reasonable request, I will have no choice but to co-operate with Parlement’s enquiries into the iniquities of the previous reign. I will be compelled to give evidence to them and tell them the truth about what happened. The whole truth from the very beginning. Is that what you want, Mother?”

“You would not dare!”

Margot’s face is implacable as a marble statue. “Wouldn’t I?”

“You would want everyone to be privy to your shame?” Catherine suggests, eager to feint at her daughter.

“Everyone already gossips about me. Do you think I care anymore? Perhaps it’s time that everyone knew how rotten this branch of the Valois family is. The corruption that permeates us all?”

“You would destroy this family?”

“If the tree is rotten from root to branch, then it must fall.”

“Are you going to allow this? Her melodramatic ravings to destroy our reputation? With the de Guise family ready and waiting in the wings to take over? Or perhaps, you believe that you have a chance to usurp my son and become King yourself. Why Margot, I had no idea you and your husband were so ambitious. “

“I know everything, and my wife has my utmost support.” Henri says with dignity, ignoring her subtle threats.

“She told you everything? How her brother impregnated her?”

He doesn’t even flinch at her crudeness. “How you allowed him to take your daughter by force? Again and again? How she nearly died thanks to your indulgence of him? How Charles had to force him to stop? Yes, your Grace, I know everything. How you tried to cover everything up. How you tried to bribe the witness into silence by threats and bribery.”

“How dare you judge me!”

Henri looks straight back at her. His own anger unleashed. “Yes, Madame I do judge you.” He ignores both women’s shocked gasps.

“Everything I have done I did to secure my family’s future. If only the little chit could have understood that.”

“How many times have I had to say this? I am your daughter too! Your flesh and blood. And you forget that when it is convenient to you. You have always despised me and I have never known why.”

“Because you never needed me. My sons suffered from ill health. They came to me for everything. They worshipped me. But you... so beautiful as I never was, bold and brilliant. So rudely in health, fair as the morning star, lauded and admired by the country, you lived your life in utter disdain. You loved that wretched troubadour of yours more than you ever cared for me, your mother.”

Margot stares at the queen mother, truly shocked by the vitriol in her mother’s voice. “You hated me because I loved Nate more than you?” 

“I’m not proud of it, but there you are. Now you know.”

“How could you ever thought that I didn’t need you, Maman? I was desperate for your love and approval. I begged you to help me and you turned away-“ She shakes her head, and Henri can see the devastation on his wife’s face. “Nate loved me, because no one else would. He was the most honourable man I’ve ever known. Can you not understand that?”

“If you think that I will sit here and allow myself to suffer under his thumb you are sorely mistaken. I have laid out our terms. You have until Friday to agree to them. Otherwise the exposé will start.”

“An exposé?”

“Parlement has a copy of a damaging exposé of our court in it’s keeping. Did you not realise what I meant? Parlement has asked me to give evidence.”

“So, Margot. You seek to make bargains?”

“I seek to claim what is rightfully mine. The right to live in peace in my husband’s kingdom.”

* * *

“I have made a decision.”

Margot comes to attention, as she regards her mother.

“Certainly. You may leave the country and good riddance to you frankly, you ungrateful chit of a daughter.”

If Margot is hurt by her mother’s harsh words she doesn’t show it outwardly, though Henri realises it must sting by the tightened clasp of her hand in his. “And my husband?”

Catherine’s smile breaks out, eager to catch her in the trap. “Oh no, Margot. He stays here until further notice. At such a politically sensitive time like this; I cannot afford to have threats to the throne travelling the realm at liberty. No, Henri will stay right where he is, as a bond for your good behaviour. I warrant your welcome in Navarre will be less than warm without your husband. The heretics will not trust you alone, though I’m sure you will make every effort to charm them. Now that Henri has returned to the true faith, I would imagine they’ll blame you for his recusancy.”

Margot grits her teeth at the trap her mother set for them. Once they are separated there’s no guarantees that Henri will survive long enough for them to be reunited. As his widow, she would have next to no status and knowing her brother’s unscrupulousness, an attempt to annex the tiny kingdom would be likely.

“Safe passage for us both!” she cries out, “Do not cheat me, Mother. You promised!”

“I’m not prepared to make deals with ungrateful daughters. Take it or leave it.”

* * *

Margot paces as they reach their chamber.

“What do we do now?”

She’s getting agitated, her voice rising. Henri reminds himself that Charles didn’t react well to setbacks and she’s reverting back to type in the face of the disappointment of all their hopes. She’s flushed with anger, cheeks stained with rage.

“I knew it! I knew she would try and trick us.” 

“At least you are safe from your brother’s menace. Ride for Navarre and throw yourself on the mercy of my councillors. They will look after you until I can return-“

“But will you return? I know what her game is. She plans to separate us so so she may do as she likes while I am not here to protect you!” she clutches at the sleeve of his doublet in distress at her mother’s scheming.

“Listen to me, Precieuse and stop panicking-“

Though her lower lip trembles, her eyes look at him huge and trusting. At least she’s starting to calm down and listen to him. For a moment, he thought she was going to succumb to a full on attack of temper. It reminded him so clearly of poor dead Charles it gave him a terrible pang to think he would never see that odd, eccentric yet affable man any more. “I promise you I will return. I will announce you to my people as my Queen.”

“She has nothing to lose now. And my brother has named you heir to the throne. He painted a target on your back and mine.” She clings on to him. “I don’t want to lose you, Henri.”

“You are so damned brave. You have the courage of a hundred lions right here. I know we will survive. Go to our English friends and ask for their protection on the way to Navarre. I will catch up with you. I vow to you right here. We will have our day in the sun-”

* * *

Henri sends a message to the team. It reaches Sir Francis as Ursula is organising the packing.

“What’s this?”  
“Henri’s written to us. He wants us to protect the Princess while he is detained at the court.”

“Protect the princess? Why is he being detained?” asks Ursula.

“It seems Catherine has allowed her daughter to depart for Navarre but they will not release Henri to return with her. Another one of Catherine’s strategems.”

“Surely she would be in danger if she goes there. A Catholic princess returning without her husband. She will need protection.”

Sir Francis sighs. “That’s where we come in. One last job, lads, before we go home.”

* * *

Henri's dark brows draw together, stubborn as always. _No more. I shall not be scared of her, not any more._ He recollects Margot's courage in dealing with Catherine while she demanded her rights. Her tenacity and boldness. _If only I had some of that fire!_

“My lord?”

The lad slips the note into Henri’s pocket and attempts to get away, but Henri has caught hold of his sleeve and dragged him into an alcove.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he growls, looking quite fierce.

Christeson looks awkward. “I was asked to pass you this message. My master said it was important. Said it was for your eyes only.”

“Thank you.”

Henri opens the scrap of parchment. A clear elegant hand, all swooping elegant lines.

**_We will be at the Pomme d’Argent on the road to Limoges, if you can reach us. The lady will await your pleasure, but you must try to come soon. Every day you spend in that place hastens your doom.  
Ganymede_ **

Henri realises what he must do. It’s now or never.

* * *

"He flies! The King of Navarre flies!" cry the sentinels.

"Fire on him! Fire!" says the queen mother in a fury, baring her teeth. “He must not be allowed to live!”

The sentinels level their pieces, but the king is out of reach.

“Did you hit him, Nançay?” Catherine hisses. “Is he dead?”

“No Madame. He’s out of range now. We can’t catch him.”

“You didn’t even try!” she cries out in a passion, striking him about the head with her fan. 

Nançay does his best to evade the tirade of blows. “Your Grace, you do me a great wrong. I obey your orders but I am not super human. Henri was a worthy quarry, but he escaped.”

She lets out an inarticulate cry of rage and stomps away, wringing her hands.

From his vantage spot Alençon watches the guards and hears his mother’s shrieks of frustrated rage. "He flies!" he mutters as he watches Henri flee into the distance. "I am king of France now. A far better bargain, then!"

At the same moment the drawbridge was hastily lowered, Anjou gallops into the court, followed by four knights, crying, "France! France!"

"My son!" cries Catherine joyfully. She runs towards him, arms held wide in welcome to her favourite son.” You return to me at last!”

Alençon grinds his teeth, thwarted again by his older brother. He slinks away, still muttering curses and maledictions.

"Am I too late?" said Anjou, shaking her off impatient as ever, his eyes wild.

"No, Alexandre. You are just in time. Listen!" She clasps his hand in triumph.

The bells ring out to welcome to the new king to his realm. From high to low the sounds fill the air like some harmonious chorale. Anjou raises his face drinking in the atmosphere, the sweet sound of his victory. “I’ve done it!” he says, his voice soft in wonder. “I am King of France!”He turns to Nançay, stood patiently besides the queen. He takes his face into his hands and draws him closer.“Did I not tell you I would return? Dearest loyal Guy, faithful until the end-“ he breathes, before their mouths meet.

Catherine stares at their flagrant disregard for social mores.

“Go. Announce me to the world as the new king.” He gives him a smile of sheer temptation. “It has to be you, Guy. My loyal upright friend.”

He bows his head, a blankly enigmatic look on his handsome face. “My lord, I will be honoured to serve you.”

Nançay, as captain of the king's guards appeared at the balcony of the king's apartment. He breaks the wand he holds in two places, and holding a piece in either hand, calls out three times, "King Charles the Ninth is dead! God rest his soul!"

The crowd take up the cry, chanting in unison. “King Charles the Ninth is dead! King Charles the Ninth is dead!"

"Charles the Ninth is dead!" says Catherine, crossing herself with a fervent expression on her face. "God save Henry the Third! At last, my triumph is complete!"

All repeat the cry.

"I have conquered," says Catherine to herself, "-and the odious Bourbon shall not reign!"

* * *

“But where is Henri de Bourbon, and why are he and Margot not here to do obeisance to me in my hour of triumph?” Anjou asks, already with a hint of imperiousness in his voice as soon as they get into the palace.

“Margot has gone, on her way to Navarre. Good riddance to the jade!”

His face turns pale as he takes in her words. “You let her escape?”

Catherine feels reproved by her son. It is a strange feeling, after the all the years of unquestioned obedience by Charles. “She was going to expose us all. Have you read this?” 

She thrusts a thick bound book at him, entitled ‘The Lost Children of Henri II’. “This went on sale last week, printed in London. The whole of Paris is reading this. I’ve been trying to suppress it, but as fast as I can shut down one printer, new copies keep springing up. Woodcuts and pamphlets all telling the same sordid tale.”

Anjou picks up the volume and flicks through it. His mouth pulls into an angry line, as he sees his own sins written down for all to see and judge. This is the last thing he, as a new king needs. He knows he isn’t a popular monarch, all eyes are on him. This is explosive, emotive stuff pulling no punches in its explicit detail and has the potential to do great harm to his reign.

“Have you read this?”

Catherine wrinkles her nose. “Of course not, no more than a swift perusing. It was beneath me.”

“Maybe you should have read it more closely.” He growls throwing the volume on the table. It falls open to an engraving which clearly is the young Anjou pushing a girl up against a wall. Her face is turned away in shame, but there’s no mistaking the long luxuriant stream of dark hair and the rich clothing ripped.

“My lord?”

“You should have arrested her, and thrown away the key.” He grits out. “That troublemaking slanderous bitch!”

“How do you know she’s behind it?”

“There are details in here that no one would know except for her and Nate. Of course she did this!”

Catherine starts to read. To give it it’s due, it’s well written. Snappy pacy narrative mixing a wry sense of wit with the unflinching will to tackle the subject matter. Now she’s looked at it, she can understand why this could easily become a best-seller. It’s going to be impossible to suppress this, now that it’s out in the open. She wonders whether Marguerite wrote this. But when would she have had the time? She flicks back to the frontispiece. Published in London. This was imported. She had to have gained help. The blasted English! I might have known.

“Don’t tell me that you had no knowledge of what happened. You knew, and you turned a blind eye when it suited you.” Anjou said bitterly

“You are king now. You don’t have to justify yourself to these peasants.”

“I am new and must win my subjects over. Charles may not have been loved by the populace, but they knew him better than me. He was indulgent and affable. They pitied him for his weaknesses, they tolerated his flaws because of his blood. I am the chosen one, I shouldn’t have any flaws.” 

“Nate isn’t foolish enough to blab our secrets to the world. I’ll say one thing for the man he was damnably clever, minor de Guise or not. It must be her!”

* * *

Henri has been riding all day, scarce having the time to rest his horse. He can't relax, worrying that the team won't be at the rendezvous point, that they might have assumed he couldn't catch up with them and have moved on.

As he approaches the inn, he formulates his plan. He’d better stay undercover for the moment, until he knows the time is safe for him to reveal his identity.

As the landlord welcomes him and orders the stable boy to take the reins, Henri inquires whether he’s had any large parties book in and is there any ladies travelling south.

“Why, yes. A party booked in about four days ago.”

Henri pricks up his ears. He can’t be sure but it sounds like them.

“They booked a suite. Best one in the inn. Nearly took up a whole floor.”

“You have to get past her guard. I’ve scarcely seen her since their arrival, though my my daughter caught a glimpse of her and she told me she was as fair as a lily with big blue eyes. Such a terribly tragic lady. Waiting for news of her husband, my Lisette says.”

All her needs are attended to by her guards. Bunch of foreigners, they are. Keep themselves to themselves.”

Henri feels relief. Sir Francis and his team kept their word. They protected Margot. “I have an assignation with the lady. I was wondering whether you could aid me.”

* * *

He’s reluctant to reveal himself just yet. He wants to see how she is when he’s not around. How she manages to cope.

She’s in a loose velvet wrapper and chemise sat cross-legged on a chair as the group play cards. Her long dark hair is pulled into a plait. Without a scrap of paint on, she looks younger and more approachable, despite the pallor of her skin and the faint dark circles under her eyes. She’s far more beautiful here, relaxed and happy far from the pressures of the Valois court than she ever was. 

“Lord Hasser, that’s the fourth game you’ve won. Are you positive you’re not sharking us?” he hears Gillone say reproachfully.

“That innocent looking face hides a lot of secrets. Walt’s a professional card player, didn’t you know?”

Margot has a volume of some sort in her hands. She cradles it as they call for her to read them a story.

“Come on, my lady.”

“Yes, tell us a story! Entertain while we wait.”

“Yes but how long will we wait for?” she says, her words falling starkly into the silence of the room.

Nate hastens to console her. For a moment Henri can’t help wondering whether they have rekindled their relationship, but a quick peek disillusions him of that suspicion. Nate and Brad sit close together, their hands entwined under the table.

“Henri is resourceful and intelligent, my Lady. I have every confidence that he will catch us up. Nate sent him the message to let him know where we would be staying.”

“What if my brother has returned from exile?” she says. “What mercy will he extend to either of us then?”

“You mustn’t think of these things, Daisy.” Nate says kindly. “Henri is a great man. He will use all his cunning and strength to return to you. Have faith in him.”

She gives him a tremulous smile. “I’m trying, Nate. But it’s so hard to believe-“

“What ails thee, mistress?”

She sighs as Gillone brushes her hair before bed. “Gillone, can you give Nate, Brad and I a moment alone. Please?”

The maid looks unsure, but she obeys, curtseying as she goes.

“I know I’m a fool but I worry about everything. I guess I can’t quite believe that things might just go well for once.”

“You are troubled, my lady?”

“Do you promise not to tell a soul of what I speak? Can I trust you still with the content of my soul?”

He nods. “You know you can, Daisy. No matter what happened between us, I will always be your best friend.”

“I cannot bear a child, Nate. How can I be a true wife to Henri if I cannot give him an heir?-“

Nate sees her dilemma at once. At the time it was one less thing to worry about during their illicit affair but now her circumstances have changed, she must worry about it. Margot is no fool. She knows without an heir, her position as Henri’s consort is still insecure. “You don’t know that. You are young, you are healthy and as lovely as when I first met you. Don’t lose hope, Daisy-”

She gives him a sad rueful smile. “Oh, Nate. Don’t you think that it would have happened by now? All those years we were together. We rarely if ever took precautions. Yet it never came up, not one scare.”

“We were damnably lucky.” he says staunchly, trying to console her.

“No, Nate. It’s one more thing my brothers stole from me. The ability to bear a child, to carry on the legacy of the Valois, to have someone to love, and to love me unconditionally. I will never have that now. I have to find the will to forgive them.”

“I don’t know how you can.” Brad remarks.

“I cannot live mired in hate and resentment. This is the new life I fought for. A life without my family, a life free of their taint and I will not let them or anyone else spoil it for me.”

 

Henri finds a dagger pointed at his throat.

“There’s been a mistake. Put the weapon down, I mean you no harm.”

“Who are you? You’d best start talking, Sir.” The blade presses against the vulnerable skin of his throat.

“It’s me. Henri de Navarre. Surely you recognise me, dear wife?”

He can feel her hand hesitate, the knife start to drop as she takes in the familiar tone of his voice.

“Bring me a light, Trombley. Swiftly. Let’s see who our guest really is.”

Henri recognises the young man with her. 

“Shall I get the others? And some weapons? Just in case?” he gives Henri a distrusting look.

“Yes. In case I can’t deal with the problem myself.”

Henri doesn’t like the sound of weapons. In fact in his opinion Trombley sounds a deal too bloodthirsty for his taste. “At least let me remove my disguise. I should have thought that it would make it hard to recognise me in this get up, but I had to be sure that we were safe.” He pulls off his hat, removes the scarf from round his face. “There, bluestocking. Do you not recollect me now?”

Margot stares at him as if she believes he is a ghost. Henri can see she is trembling partly from adrenaline and partly through fear. She was actually scared of him. Who he might be.

“How did you manage to escape my mother?” she whispers, pale faced. Her voice trembles.

“I made a run for it the day your brother turned up from Poland. I figured what more have I got to lose? I managed to dodge their bullets, evade the guard and got to ground until I could rejoin you.” He pauses, unsure of how to parse the look on her face.

“You bloody fool!” she snaps, colour flooding back into her cheeks. He’s almost relieved to feel the crack of her hand across his face. Anything is better than that frozen naked fear. “You could have been anyone. I’ve been worrying myself sick about whether you were still alive.”

“I told you I would come for you, did I not? I may be a rogue and nothing but a boastful Gasçon, but I keep my promises to a lady-”

Her arms are tight round him. She presses her mouth to his with an urgent passion. He can feel her heart beating a frantic tattoo against his chest.

“Henri-“

“Let me take you back to my kingdom in the mountains. I know I am a humble uncouth man compared to what you have known, but I promise I will try to make you happy.” He says sinking to his knees and kissing her hand. “My Queen-“

“Get up, you blithering idiot!” she says, a note of exasperation and affection in her voice.

“You forgive me?”

He’s barely finished his sentence before she’s pulling him up from his humble position, kissing him again, tangling her hands in his wiry dark hair as she draws her arms round him. 

Brad wonder how Nate will take their reunion as the team arrive to see Henri and Margot locked in a close embrace. 

Nate hands Trombley some gold. 

“What’s that for?”

“Drinking money.”

Ray is amazed at Nate’s cool. Brad has to agree with him, though he knows Nate’s feelings and that he can trust him, it’s hard to believe he feels nothing at the sight of her reunion with her husband. _Does he not think of what once was? That he was the focus of her affection. Her heart’s desire, that’s what she used to call him_. “You want him to get hammered? Are you out of your mind?”

“Think about it. Margot and Henri have just been reunited. You have the room next to hers. The wall of this tavern are as thin as parchment. Do you really think you’re going to get a wink of sleep tonight?”

If anyone knows what he’s talking about on this subject, it’s Nate.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, eh Trombley? Just try not to get too inebriated, will ye? We’ll have an early start in the morning.”


	32. Safe Haven

Pamplona, a month later

Henri rides into his capital in triumph, smiling and laughing as he does so. As he laps up the adoration of the populace who love their young happy go lucky king he seems more alive and vital than he ever did in the great treacherous city of Paris. Though the experiences of court made him grow up too soon, his native guile and intelligence saw him through and helped him triumph.

This is where he’s truly at home, not in that terrible viper’s pit, the Valois court. He’s in his element now, observes Brad as he rides next to the carriage. 

 

As Margot sits in the carriage next to her husband, she silently looks out onto her home, her new kingdom. He wonders how she feels at this moment. Outwardly she looks as stunning as ever, dark blue velvet gown in a severe yet flattering cut as she’s still in semi-mourning for her brother. The choker of drop pearls glimmer against her skin. 

“Are you ready, my Marguerite?”

She closes her eyes, gathering her strength. Henri can see the pallor of her knuckles clasped fervently together in her lap. She is mortally afraid, for all her hard won outward poise.

“You can do this, Precieuse. I know you can.” He says softly.

Her eyes open and he sees she is scared, young and very vulnerable. Henri is touched that she is letting him see this side of her. Not the glorious untouchable princess, the icon, but the girl behind the porcelain façade. 

“We’re a partnership, remember?” he says, with a smile. He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze.

She smiles back wanly returning the pressure of his hand. “A partnership-“  
The carriage stops with a jolt outside the château. She lays her hand gracefully in his as they leave the vehicle.

* * *

“This is my queen. If not for her guile and bravery, it is very likely that I would not be alive to tell the tale. I want you all to welcome my wife with all possible honour and admiration. Marguerite de Valois, Reine de Navarre.” Henri announces to his people with pride and a fond smile in his voice.

As he holds her hand up in triumph to the ecstatic roars of the crowd, the group take a look at her face. It’s a frozen and perfect as a marble statue, a figurine on a mantlepiece. She seems like a princess trapped in a fairytale.

“It’s up to them now. If she works with him in a team, supports her husband in his ambitions, there’s no reason why she might not become Queen of France one day. Just as she always wanted.” says Sir Francis.

“At the price of her soul?” Walt cannot help asking.

“What do you mean?” Lord Ferrando asks. “At the price of her soul?”

“I cannot believe that she will be happy. That she will forgive Henri so easily. She never loved him. He betrayed her with Charlotte and heaven knows who else? Is it in his nature to love her alone?”

“This was her destiny, since she was a child and Nate first served her. To be Queen. She knows it in her heart, she always has. She will be prepared to pay the price to realise her ambitions. “

“It just seems so harsh.” He says, feeling unaccountably sad for the bold yet vulnerable girl who took off her mask in the tavern those many months ago and responded to his kiss when he reassured her he would not turn away from her.

Sir Francis muses upon it. “At least she was able to be loved by someone at least once in her life for who she was. Whatever happened, Nate was good for her. I don’t regret my part in that tale.”

* * *

“I wanted to thank you and the team for all you have done for me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Did you find what you sought at the court of the Valois?” asks Henri shrewdly.

Sir Francis is pensive as he considers the young king’s question. True, he does now have a lot of answers but perhaps they are not the ones he was seeking at the start of the mission, all that time ago. When he returns to court and briefs his mistress Elizabeth, the game will have completely changed. In that respect at least their mission has been a success.

“Yes, I believe I did, Sire. Thank you.”

“Will you return to your native land? I could use men of your calibre here in my kingdom.”

Sir Francis shakes his head. “No, your Grace. Our loyalty is to our Queen Elizabeth. She expects us to return and report back on events here.”

“Then when you return, tell her this from a fellow monarch, however humble my kingdom is. She is lucky beyond measure to have such loyal and skilful men in her service.”

As Sir Francis looks at the earnest young king, he can’t help wishing him luck in his heart. Whatever the future holds for this bluff, unassuming king and his wife. At least it will never be dull.

* * *

The group are just about to depart when Nate spots a cloaked masked figure waiting by the quai.

“Wait a moment-” He says, before approaching her.

“My lady?” he says softly.

She takes off the mask.

“I haven’t got long, otherwise people will start asking questions about where I am.” She says urgently. “So you and the men are leaving tonight.”

“Yes, my lady. It is time we all returned home at last. There’s nothing more we can do here.” Brad replies.

“So this is goodbye at last, Nate. After all these years-“

“I have something for you. I hope you and Brad don’t mind.” She says, taking out a parcel wrapped in a silk scarf.

“What is it?”

“Keep it safe for me. Lock it away if you have to. One day, when you and Brad are old and grey you might come across it and look on this little book and remember. Despite everything that happened between us-”

Nate opens the parcel. “Clouet’s old sketchbook-“ he says with wonder. “I always wondered what happened to it.”

Brad looks over his shoulder. There’s pages of exquisite pen and ink drawings of the two of them at leisure from childhood, always together. A record of a life spent together now vanished and become nothing more than lines on vellum, a distant dream.

“I’d understand if you couldn’t keep it. If the memories are too raw. I know there’s many art connoisseurs who would kill for access to original Clouets. Perhaps you could arrange a discreet private sale and keep the proceeds.”

“My lady-“ Nate says at last. “I wouldn’t dream of selling these. I’ll keep them forever. For you, if it would please.”

“Remember me with a little fondness if you can, and forget the unpleasantness. Can you do that for me, Nate? My most devoted and honourable friend?”

He nods, having nothing more to say.

“Good bye then and be happy. Both of you.” She says with a soft kiss to both their cheeks. It feels like a benediction of sorts.

“Goodbye, my lady.” Nate says, holding her close one last time. “Daisy-“

His hand cradles her face. Brad can see the tears shining on her cheeks as she gazes up at him, but he doesn’t begrudge her this last parting.

“I will never forget you, Nate.”

“Nor I will forget you, Daisy-“

Brad watches Nate as she departs into the darkness and wonders what he is thinking. Whether he has any regrets about the path which led them to this road.

“Nate?”

Just a brush of the hand and a smile, but it reassures him more than he will ever know.

“She was everything to you.”

The smile that spreads across Nate’s mouth lights up his whole face. “-and you are my future. You have nothing to fear, Brad.”

* * *

“What will you do now?” asks Sir Francis as the ship pulls away from the harbour.

Nate is thoughtful, looking over the side of the boat towards the rapidly retreating shore. “It has been a long time since I went to my father’s lands in Ireland. I want to go back to my roots. I want to return to Ballykirlan.” He gives Brad a hopeful little smile and he knows he will do anything to please Nate.

“Ballykirlan, it is then.”

“I release you from your contract. You are no longer obligated to work for me and Lord Ferrando. Although-“ he gives Nate a rueful little smile. “I hope that a man of your considerable analytical mind would contemplate using it in the service of the crown. It would be a shame to lose you.”

“A shame?”

“In all honesty, Nathaniel, you were one of the best agents I ever had. And I do not say that lightly.”

“I need to live my life as a free agent, at least for a short while. Not the vassal of a lord or prince. Not as an agent. I have to find out who I really am. Nathaniel Fick. Do you understand, Sir Francis?”

“You won’t miss court?” asks Sir Francis as if he can’t believe Nate would easily walk away from the perilous glamour of court, almost without a second glance.

“To be honest, Sir Francis, I think I’ve had enough of princes and courts, intrigues and secrets to last me a lifetime. I will be content with a simple life. With my books and my instruments. Teaching and passing on my knowledge to a new generation of students. To be frank, Sir, I can’t wait.”


	33. The Poignard Sheathed

Nate embarks from the boat, and sets foot for the first time on British soil since he was a child. It must be a very emotional moment this homecoming. Something very personal. Nate had longed for so long to return, it was the least he could do to accompany him on his journey home.  
Ballykirlan turned out to be a fertile little valley down in the south of Ireland. A humble yet happy land. Crowds of people crowding round them in the great hall, shaking hands and reminiscing about long gone members of the Fick family. Now and them he could see echoes of Nate’s features in the people. Locks of fox-gold, the slope of a nose or the slant of a high cheekbone that recalled him.  
“I’m sore glad to see you, lad. Glad you’re home. Dinna leave it too long next time, will ye?”  
Nate tries to smile but there is a lump in his throat.  
“It’s a shame about yer father. Bright as a new penny he was, went abroad to seek his fortune. He was right rare proud of ye and yer talent. Always wrote to us about ye.  
“Loved you so, he did. Always called you his shining gift.  
“Aye, I hear ye’re a bard of great talents. Played for the King of France ‘imself.”  
“You’re a friend of our Nate’s.” she says with a smile. “-and what’s more you brought him back to us.”

Brad can see just how important the prospect of family is to Nate. Having a place and position of his own. No longer having to rely upon the charity and whims of the Valois court.

“’Tis no mean thing to be a Fick of Ballykirlan.” He smiles, as he looks at his people. He raises the glass in a pledge of loyalty. “I’m glad to be home at last!”

“Well said, my lad!”

 

“How do you feel?” asks Brad. “Now that you’re finally in Yorkshire?”

He looks at Brad and takes a deep breath. As a contented smile spreads across his face he finally relaxes.

“Not bad at all. I’ll be glad when we finally get home.”

Nate’s simple words warm Brad’s heart, though he wouldn’t openly admit it. He’s lived an enviable life and yet he feels at home with me.

“It’s not far from here. Only an hour and a half if we ride swiftly.”

“I know how fast you ride.” Nate retorts as he spurs his horse, in an effort not to get left behind.

As they approach The Grange from the south, Brad becomes more expansive, pointing out landmarks. Moors where he spent his childhood riding for miles among the scrubby grass, heather and the wuthering wind blowing in. Tiny homesteads and villages where some of the homesteaders greet them as they pass, familiar with the tall golden figure on his steed. 

“I was brought up here. My foster parents settled here once they retired and made their fortune. I spent a great deal of my misspent youth climbing trees and racing horses -” his voice trails off and Nate senses he is thinking of Letty and Tom. Their shared past which can only cause him unhappiness thinking how they betrayed his trust.

“They all seems to know you here.” Nate ventures.

“These are my people and they accept me as their lord.”

“Are you apprehensive about your new life? I would understand it if you were. This is very different from what you’re used to, courts, princes and palaces-“

Nate leans over to reassure him, just a brief touch on the wrist of his gauntlet and a long searching look, but it’s enough for Brad. “-And that’s exactly why I’m looking forward to it. A good peaceable life. Our life-”

“I don’t know how peaceable it’s going to be back home. Rikje and the children have pretty much taken over The Grange. Two boisterous boys and a girl.” Nate hears the fondness in his voice and isn’t remotely fooled.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, Brad and you know it. I’m looking forward to meeting them all. I just hope they will accept me.”

“They will, I’m sure of it.”

The gate swings open and as they ride up the driveway, they see a petite dark haired woman plainly dressed in coif and wide plain collar waiting by the front door. She has a no nonsense face with dimples that threaten to appear at the first sign of good humour.

“Rikje?”

“Sir-” Nate hears the Dutch accent in her voice. “Master Person, ‘tis good to see you too. I’ve made up your room in the east wing. Claas has been driving me to distraction asking when you’d return. Aye, we’ll have a Harvest Supper to be proud of this year.”

“This is Nate Fick, he’s going to be staying with us for a while. Nate, this is Rikje Van Wijngaarten my housekeeper.”

Rikje looks him up and down for a long moment. Nate feels under scrutiny from those sharp dark eyes. Eventually she gives a short sharp nod as if to signify he’s earned her hard earned approval.

“I’m sure you’ve missed us, but this is a rather unusual greeting, is it not?” Brad says as he jumps off Ombre and gives him a quick rub-down.

“You have a visitor, Sir. One that is very insistent, and will not take no for an answer.” She wrinkles her nose most disapprovingly. “Been here every day for a fortnight waiting for you to return.”

“A visitor? Who is it?” Brad asks ominously.

“She made me promise not to tell you until you met.”

Ray’s mouth is pursed in censure. It’s fairly obvious he’s guessed exactly who Brad’s mysterious visitor is and he does not approve in the slightest.

“Rikje-“ She gives Nate a significant look before whispering in Brad’s ear.

“Do you want me to tell her to leave, Sir?”

Brad shakes his head. “I’ll deal with this. Once and for all.”

 

Letty is sitting in the kitchen waiting for their arrival. There is a distinct look of disapproval on her face at the organised chaos of the busy kitchen. “Bradley?”

“My Lady Laetitia. What are you doing here?”

If Letty notices the drop in temperature of his voice she doesn’t seem to register it. 

“I need to speak to you.” she gives Nate and Rikje an evil look. “-In private.”

Brad isn’t having any of it. “Whatever you have to say, Laetitia you can say it right here. I have no secrets from Nate, Ray or Rikje.”

Letty scowls at being thwarted. She sneaks a look at Nate wondering what is going on.

“It must have been important if you’d been camping out here for the past fortnight?” he prompts her, just a hint of impatience in his voice.

“Very well,” she says, stung to desperation. “I‘ve been having second thoughts! There! Are you happy now, Brad?”

Brad cannot believe she is sitting here actually saying this to him now, after all he’s been through. She cannot be serious. He feels an overwhelming urge to laugh.

“Second thoughts about what?” he asks politely pulling himself together.

“About marrying Tom, what do you think?”

Brad just looks at her, saying nothing. He can sense Nate tense next to him.

“I made a mistake. With Tom. He doesn’t love me, not the way that I need. I was a fool to give up on us. I made a mistake, Bradley. Can you forgive me? Take me back?”

“Are you seriously having some kind of a laugh, Laetitia?” Ray snaps.

“Ray-“ Brad starts. It’s a surprise when it’s Rikje that interjects. 

“No, Sir. Let him say it. Some truths need to be voiced.” 

“After the way you treated Brad, I wonder that you have the front to come here and say this to his face. You love him? You want him back? You made ‘a mistake’? You really must have no shame, Miss Glenister.”

She’s taken aback. Brad doesn’t imagine she ever expected anyone to ever challenge her. 

“I didn’t think-“ she says, stricken to the core. “I don’t-“

“I think in the circumstances, it would be best if you didn’t come here again. I’m sorry you’re hurt, Letty. Maybe one day we’ll be able to meet without rancour and be friends all together, you, Tom and myself. But it’ll be a very long time before I can bear to be in the same room as either of you.”

“You won’t change your mind. You can’t forgive me for the wrong I did you?” she says still trying to charm him, despite the evidence she no longer has that power over him.

“No, Lady Glenister, I can’t.”

She looks up at him with stricken eyes but Brad will not bend.

“Tom must be worrying about where you are.” He gently puts her cloak on her shoulders and does up the fasteners. “Go home, Laetitia. There’s nothing for you here any more.”

# The End

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure what inspired me to attempt such a long piece, and for my first piece of fanfic as well. I must be slightly crazy. This was a crazy, slighly cracky 'What if?' that just wouldn't leave my brain. Juxtaposing the characters fron Generation Kill in a historical setting. I was always intrigued by Sir Francis Walsingham in Elizabeth (1998) and when I started to do some research on him I found out he was one of the original spymasters. He started a system of spies and double agents in many of the European courts, able to feed him information in the fight against the threat of Catholic Europe. I wanted to do a historical AU featuring the characters, and this seemed ideal. When I did some further reading, I decided to incorporate one of my favourite , though obscure fandoms, La Reine Margot based on the novel by Alexandre Dumas and made into a award winning french film starring Isabelle Adjani and Vincent Perez.  
> Everything started to come together from there: Walsingham did go over to France for the wedding of Marguerite de Valois and Henri de Bourbon, King of Navarre to help negoiate a treaty for his mistress Elizabeth. He was involved in the massacre. Acording to reports, his house was attacked by the mob and it became a focal point for the Huguenot's resistance.  
> After that everything started falling into place, and it just started growing and growing. I didn't expect it to grow to novel length certainly, but strangely enough once the chacracters were introduced to each other, they simply would not shut up!
> 
> The Valois: The Rotten Branches of the Royal Tree  
> The Valois family were interesting to tackle, even though the snarls of historical innuendo and rumours were hard to untangle. It's believed that Catherine has a very bad reputation politically and was believed to be responsible for the deaths of many , including Gaspard de Coligny, Armangnac, Le Rochefoucauld, Jeanne d'Albret (Henri de Navarre's mother) and her own son Charles . How much truth there in these allegations is it's impossible to know.  
> Certainly Dumas in his novel and the film by Patrice Chereau lay the blame for the massacre and wedding ill-fated wedding at her door. Both works portray her as a monster. She most definitely had a favourite in Anjou, and the bitter rivalry between the royal brothers is there in the source material.  
> Charles is a problematical character, at once affable, and brutal. I prefer to see him as a weak but decent man corrupted by his upbringing. The madness and fear that consumes him and leads him to agree to the bloodbath had been there for a long time. At the point of the fic, Charles is fighting a losing battle with his sanity.  
> Marguerite is the original 'Rebellious Princess'. Sexually forward, impulsive yet loyal and brave what struck me most about her character was the scenes earlier in the film with de Guise and out in the street with La Mole. She desperately needed to be loved in a way she was not in her own family. Margot cared for and loved Charles: In fact many said she was one of the few who grieved for him.
> 
> Generation Kill in the 16th century  
> One of the problems I had was that the boys are so modern and products of their time , I wondered about how to keep them being themselves while taking them back to the 16th century. I tried to keep their voices recognizable and refrain from too much modern turn of phrase, but it was quite difficult. How successful I was is for you the reader to judge.On the whole I think the concept worked well. There was a swashbuckling element to First Recon which lent itself to the tropes of swashbuckling adventures like Dumas and Sabatini.
> 
> A Question of Faith : Religious Strife in 16th century Europe  
> Religion was a matter of life and death back in the 1570s. France at that period had been wracked by three brutal civil wars between Catholic and Huguenots. It wa a priority for Catherine and Charles to pursue a peaceful solution with a commodity of some value. Marguerite was useful to them in as much as she was the king's sister, intelligent and beautiful. A prize for any European royal family. It quite a surprise that she managed to remain unmarried to the relatively advanced age of nineteen. Aristocratic women of the age would have married much younger to safeguard the dynasties. It is also curious that she married Henri de Bourbon, King of Navarre who was the monarch of a small realm almost nearly subsumed by the might of Catholic Spain.  
> As she was barred from inheriting the throne in her own right due to Salic Law, she still had Valois blood and a union with her would elevate her husband and offspring with a slim chance at the throne of France pending the deaths of Charles, Anjou and Alencon.


End file.
